Hunted
by Magritte
Summary: His lover vanished, and his Order turned against him, Alistair must try to find Aedan, find the source of the corruption in the Wardens and redeem them...all the while resisting the lure of the song in his dreams.
1. Author's Forward

The astute reader will note many deviations from canon in this story. Some of these arose because this story is a coda to the Chasing Alistair/Morrigan's Daughter/Alistair's Journey cycle that was begun well before Dragon Age 2. How I imagined certain things, like the old god baby, was not how they panned out. Other changes, like Alistair having a relationship with a male Warden and the fate of the Hero of Ferelden in Dragon Age: Inquisition time, are my choice. The first because I wanted to write a story of that nature, and the second because I was dissatisfied with the vague references to the Hero of Ferelden in DA:I. I couldn't imagine my Warden being off somewhere, leaving Alistair behind, while Thedas and the Grey Wardens were in such peril. So...I've written my own story that I feel suitably ends my saga, even if it isn't what Bioware had in mind. That said, the world and many of the events and characters in this story belong to them. I am thankful for their creation, and thankful that they allow us to play in it, and with it, as I have here.

If any of my old readers remain, I welcome them back. To any new readers: While it is my intent that this story will stand alone, the first chapter may be a bit confusing. I will try and clarify some of the past for those unfamiliar with what came before, but references to the past will come gradually through the first few chapters.


	2. Chapter One: The Vanishing

The day Aedan disappeared began as a normal day, or as normal as any in those troubled times. Alistair had headed to the training fields to work with the younger Grey Wardens on shield tactics after breakfast. He had lunch with Aedan on the battlements of Vigil's Keep, as he usually did when the weather was pleasant. After that, he sparred for a while, did some calisthenics, and then went to their room for a brief nap.

The first sign that something was amiss came when he was not awakened by Aedan snuggling into the bed beside him. But it was not so unusual as to be alarming, and when he went down to the castle gate, he learned that his lover and commander had gone out to check on a report of a demon in the vicinity. In the wake of the mage rebellion, abominations were far more common than before. While many mages-the sensible ones in Alistair's view-had gathered at Redcliffe, others roamed around freely and warred against a templar organization that had largely gone rogue. And with the Circles fallen, it was hard for young mages just becoming aware of their abilities to learn their craft in safety.

Some of them had come to the Wardens, but the Wardens were selective, and they turned most away. Over lunch he and Aedan had discussed seeking recruits among the mages-and the templars-more actively, but had not spoken of why they were needed. They both knew they were losing numbers. They didn't speak of the pull of the Deep Roads that they felt more and more each night.

Most commanders would have sent out underlings for a scouting mission, but Aedan was inclined to take personal action when he saw need. And with Nathaniel's shocking departure for the Deep Roads-he had been a Grey Warden for less than ten years-they were short of skilled scouts. Alistair was not troubled by this, not at first. Aedan was a master of concealment. If there really were a demon nearby, he would either dispose of it or return to Vigil's Keep for reinforcements if he judged it too powerful to risk attacking by himself. Aedan was not prone to careless misjudgement of hazards. Alistair reminded himself of that as he waited, more than once.

But as the shadows lengthened, Alistair paced the battlements of Vigil's keep, his eyes on the horizon. At twilight, he set out with the mage Meghann and a young tracker named Angus to search for Aedan. The younger man was able to follow his trail as far as the hill where the demon had been reported but no further.

"I can't see anything here except some burned grass," said Angus, his brow furrowed as he stared at the ground on the grassy hilltop.

"Something happened here," said Meghann. She knelt and sniffed. "The veil is very thin. Ah...fire essence. A rage demon was killed here."

"What? But there's no sign of a body!"exclaimed Alistair. "Not even the remains of any clothing."

She shook her head. "It was a demon, not an abomination."

"You think it came through because the veil was thin?"

"Perhaps. Or was summoned...Alistair, someone worked powerful magic here. This tear in the veil must be new. It's too close to Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine to have gone unnoticed."

"Great. So we have a powerful blood mage summoning demons nearby. The summons disrupted the veil?"

"I don't think so. The damage is greater than I would expect from such a summoning. I've never seen the veil so threadbare, not even when Uldred became an abomination. The demon may have wandered through on its own after the mage was done."

"But if Aedan defeated the demon, where did he go? Why didn't he return to Vigil's Keep? Could the mage have done something to him?" He struggled to keep his voice level, to control his fear. "But Aedan-if he'd seen a mage, he would have taken down the mage before going after the demon."

Meghann put a hand on Alistair's arm. "We don't know that the mage was still here when Aedan killed the demon. Maybe...maybe he saw something he wanted to investigate. Or maybe he pursued the mage somewhere."

Angus was still staring at the ground. "This doesn't make any sense. I can follow Aedan's trail to here, where Meghann found the demon residue but it just seems to stop. Maybe the light's not good enough." He fumbled for a tinderbox, lit a torch, and stared at the ground. He shook his head. "It's as through he vanished. I'm sorry. Maybe if Nathaniel were here he could see somethingthat I don't..." Alistair watched the younger Warden with sympathy, remembering how desperate he had been to please Duncan. Angus felt he was failing; he could see it in the young man's eyes. But Alistair was too full of fear for Aedan to spare him any reassurance. He took deep, slow breaths, to try to maintain outward calm.

Alistair turned back to Meghann. "Could...could a blood mage have taken control of him and led him away?" She had dabbled in blood magic, before the Ferelden Circle fell.

"Perhaps, but it's difficult to maintain such a hold for very long, and Aedan is strong-willed. And he knows the litany of Adralla, though I suppose if he was distracted by the rage demon..."

"But he should still have left a trail!" protested Angus. "The ground is soft from yesterday's rain, but there's no sign of footprints. I can't even find the trail of this mage." He held his torch aloft and peered around them. "Oh...maybe over here." He moved about 20 yeards downhill, toward the river. "There was someone else here! But...this trail just stops too. It's as if they disappeared or flew away."

Flew? Morrigan had told them once that Flemeth had turned into a giant bird and plucked them from the Tower of Ishual years ago. But Flemeth had no reason to take Aedan. He swallowed, took another deep breath. "There have been no dragon reports in the area."

"I didn't mean to suggest that was what happened," said Angus.

"Some mages _can_ change shape," Alistair pointed out. "It might be an explanation."

Meghann shook her head. "To something large enough to carry a man in flight? Surely not. There must be some other way, perhaps an illusion to hide the trail or...Alistair, I think we should return to the Keep and have search parties spreading out from here."

"You go. I'll stay here." he said as she moved to head down the hill. She turned her head back, a sharp look in her green eyes. "Someone needs to watch this place, in case more demons come through the veil. And...maybe Aedan will return here."

But Aedan did not return, nor did any demons appear. It was a long vigil, and Alistair started at every sound: the wind rustling through the trees, a bullfrog by the pond near the bottom of the hill, a wolf far away in the distance. Sometimes he heard other wardens calling out for their commander. A full moon rose and the moonlight was bright, but he saw no sign of anything but small animals moving about in the night.

Alistair had always been prepared to lose Aedan. They had both fought for their lives on many occasions, come within a mistimed parry of death. But he had never imagined that Aedan would vanish without him even knowing what had happened. Despite the fact that hope remained that he would return unscathed-there was no sign he had even been injured-the uncertainty was almost as troubling as loss.

Meghann returned at dawn and persuaded him to return to the keep. Although Angus had been unable to determine where Aedan or the mage had gone, he had traced the mage's footprints back to the river and suspected he had arrived in a boat. The Wardens would question the villagers in the area, determine if anyone had seen something that might yield a clue. She advised him to rest, that there was nothing more he could do right now.

With a heavy sigh, he agreed and started back toward the keep. They arrived at the same time as a black-haired, bearded man on a light horse who wore a grey cloak emblazoned with a blue gryphon. "I bear an urgent message for Commander Cousland," he called out. "A summons to a High Council in Weisshaupt. We have a ship ready at Amaranthine Harbor, ready to depart tomorrow to carry him.

"Commander Cousland is not here." said Alistair.

"I see. When will he return?"

"We don't know. He-," Alistair hesitated. "He may be away for some time." What did it mean that the Wardens had called a summons on the day of Aedan's disappearance? His stomach tightened.

"Then, I must ask for his second in command. Someone must represent the Ferelden Wardens at the council."

"That would be me. Can it not wait?" aked Alistair. "What is it about?" The messenger came down from his horse, and handed Alistair a letter. But he knew what the meeting must be about. What else could it be about?

Meghann placed on his shoulder. "You need not go. Send me or Ranald."

The messenger frowned. "My orders are very clear. If the Commander absolutely cannot attend, his second must. It is essential that we have someone with full authority to speak on behalf of Ferelden."

Alistair winced. It was painful to think of leaving with Aedan's fate still unknown to him. But he felt sure that the messenger's arrival was no coincidence. He still did not know how Aedan had been taken, but now, at least he thought he knew why.


	3. Chapter Two: Preparation for Departure

It had been a long time since he had thought about the plan Aristomachus of Minrathous had contrived to deal with the problem of Aedan's daughter with Morrigan. Alistair's faith in the Warden leadership had never recovered from the shock of learning that Anshelm, First of the Wardens sought to use him to lure Aedan to his death. The First had hoped to use Aedan in a blood magic ritual to reach his daughter, even in another world beyond the Fade. If the Weisshaupt archivist Adelheid had not told Alistair that he had been tricked, he didn't like to imagine what might happened. But she had, and so he had returned to Ferelden, warned Aedan of Weisshaupt's plans.

For a few years afterward, he had worried that they might still try to carry out their scheme. Aedan professed not to be concerned, but even so, he stayed close to home, close to men he trusted. Alistair suspected that was why Aedan had not come with him on missions abroad, such as when he had dealt with Corypheus. But as the years passed, and nothing happened, they had relaxed. Two years ago, they learned that Anshelm had gone to his Calling, and they had hoped the plan had died with him.

But unless Aedan's disappearance was coincidental, it seemed Weisshaupt had chosen now to act. T _hey must think that Morrigan's daughter Aife is somehow causing Wardens to be drawn to their Calling. But there was nothing that spoke of the girl in the taint dreams, nothing that reminded him or Aedan of the dreams they had in Orlais. Surely any Wardens who had been in Orlais then would stay the same...Still, why else would the Wardens have abducted Aedan now?_

And so-much to Meghann's surprise-he had agreed to go to Weisshaupt once more, seeing it as the only hope he had. If he was right, Aedan was halfway across the Waking Sea by now and there was no hope of catching him, without knowing where they were taking him. He could only pray that the council had been called because they would not carry out the ritual without agreement from a High Council. Maybe they thought that he would refuse to come to Weisshaupt with Aedan missing. Maybe he could still stop it.

He met Meghann in Aedan's office the following morning, to hand over the keys to the office and Warden's war chest, since she would be acting as Commander in his and Aedan's absence.

"I made up the herbal remedy for sea-sickness you requested," she said. "You know you really don't have to do this. Surely they would accept someone else as a proxy under the circumstances."

He shook his head. "No. It's no exaggeration to say the future of the Wardens is it stake. And I-I am no tracker, I have no scrying magic. I can't be much help here." He wondered if she guessed that he was hiding something, that he had other reasons for choosing to go.

She reviewed what they had learned about disappearance. It wasn't much. A few peasants had seen a boat on the river before but they hadn't been able to get a description of anyone aboard. All the scouts agreed with Angus that Aedan's trail simply stopped without any plausible explanation.

"Is there any way to transport a person magically?" he asked.

She sighed. "I won't say it's impossible, but no magic that I know. I've never seen anything to give an indication of how it would be done in either the Circle Library or the Warden Archives in Weisshaupt. It is claimed that the ancient elves were able to use the Eluvian to travel, so perhaps they knew a way...but not even the Tevinter Magisters were able to unlock that secret. Who knows if it was even true?"

It was true, he knew from Morrigan. He wondered if Morrigan or Flemeth might be able to do it even without an Eluvian, but he had no reason to think either of them would seek to capture Aedan.

"Alistair, you should not despair. As close as the two of you are, I feel sure you would have felt something if he had died." When someone dies, their soul passes through the Fade on its last journey but it visits those who were closest to a person's heart on its way, Adelheid had told him years ago. It was that passage the Wardens sought to exploit to find a way to his daughter. "And if he's alive but imprisoned, our Commander is a resourceful man and would turn Thedas upside to find his way back to you. I will do my best to find him, but-knowing Aedan-he may well return to Vigil's Keep on his own. When he returns, I will tell him where you have gone."

"When he returns," Alistair repeated, trying to feign a confidence he could not feel.


	4. Chapter Three: The Journey to Weisshaupt

Alistair did not like to travel by sea, but the way through the mountains from Orlais into the Anderfels was impassable this early in the year. At least the herb Meghann had given him kept him from retching his guts out all the way to Tevinter, but it also dulled his mind, leaving him confused and dizzy much of the time. he was on the ship. But the boat was a relatively small, and fast, one of the modern types copied from the Qunari and called "caravels", so the journey did not take as long as his return from Weisshaupt had five years before.

The messenger who had been sent to Ferelden to summon him was called Diterich, and was a warden who had just passed the joining last year. It soon became obvious that Diterich was not privy to any plot against Aedan. Once he realized that Alistair was that Alistair of Ferelden, he had fallen all over himself to be respectful and Alistair spent much of the voyage recounting stories of the Fifth Blight. His brusque delivery of the summons had been a consequence of inexperience, the desire of a young man to be taken seriously. Alistair supposed he should have welcomed the distraction. Reminiscing about the year of the Blight meant that Aedan was constantly on his mind, but it did divert his mind from Aedan's disappearance.

Though it was not even Bloomingtide when they arrived in the Tevinter port of Asariel, it was warm enough for early summer by Ferelden standards. The journey from there to Weisshaupt was not long, but it would be a steep climb from the coast to the high plateau. Alistair looked forward to sleeping on dry land, without the need for his seasickness herb, for the first time in weeks.

Sleep proved far less restful than he had hoped, however. It seemed that the potions had dulled the taint dreams as well as his mind; he had one of full force again that night. Worse, he had not woken up in terror the way he once did. Though he had dreamed of the Deep Roads and the Darkspawn, he had not been attacked, and there had been that sound. It was still strange to him, not yet sweet music, but it had changed, and he knew what that meant. And when he awoke, he longed for Aedan to hold him and comfort him the way they always did after the dreams. It would have been so much easier to resist the Calling, if his lover were there beside him, calling him home.

Years ago, he and Aedan had promised each other that they would go to the Roads together, when the time came. But after the intensification of the Calling had started last year, he began to worry about the implications of that promise. What if he reached the point of madness while Aedan was still hale? He would not want Aedan to honor such a promise.

It had even crossed his mind that Aedan might have simply left for the Roads without telling him, not wanting him to feel compelled to follow. But no. He could imagine the old Aedan, the one from before their year apart, doing that. But after Alistair had returned, and Aedan had understood the cost of the secrets he had kept from, Aedan had been more open. Besides, he was sure Aedan was not close to the breaking point. Though Aedan had great self-control and could deceive even Alistair with words, not even he could disguise his state of mind when asleep. Alistair would have known.

And so Alistair lay awake in his cold bed, praying to a Maker he wasn't sure he believed in, to give him a chance to save his lover, to hold him again. He did not want to have to resist the Calling without his support.

The following day, he and Diterich began the climb up Troyan Pass to the Anderfels. The warmth of Tevinter spring soon faded as they ascended to the harsh plateau country where Weisshaupt lay. But though it grew cold at night, the days on the barrens were warm and bright. In the clear, dry air, Alistair could already see their destination a full day before they expected to reach it. Ahead of them lay the great ribbed tower of black rock, casting a long shadow in the late afternoon, the fortress of Weisshaupt resting upon its flat top.

There would be no dreams that, nor sleep. Aedan lay awake and wondered how he would find his way to Aedan and rescue him, prayed that it was not too late.


	5. Chapter Four: First Warden Clerel

Before following Diterich up the steep track that led to the gates of Weisshaupt _Kastell_ , Alistair took a long look at the fortress looming above him. When he had come here before, he had been alone and lost, hoping that he would find renewed purpose in the stronghold of his Order. Instead, the Warden leadership had misled him and tried to use him. He was older and warier now.

When they entered the Gatehouse, Diterich was given instructions to take Alistair to the main keep. Unlike last time, when he had been assigned a room in a house, he would be housed inside. He was not certain if that was a position of greater honor, a sign they wanted to keep an eye on him, or simply that they had more room in the keep due to Wardens who had sought the Deep Roads in the past year. In any event, the quarters were as austere as last time. It took Alistair little time to unpack his gear, wash up, change his clothes and meet Diterich back at _Der Grau Greifen_ for dinner.

The tavern seemed little changed from his last visit. Perhaps it was a little quieter than he remembered, but it had never been a boisterous place. Wardens seeking a raucous night on the town headed down to the establishments of the dorf at the foot of the hill, not the Greifen. Alistair did not recognize anyone there but the bartender, Otmar. Otmar acknowledged him but did not ask questions; he had long since learned not to pry into the business of the Wardens.

He and Diterich said little as they ate their meal of mutton stew and coarse black bread. Alistair suspected Diterich had been disappointed that Alistair had lived at Weisshaupt for several months and had no need for a tour guide. Perhaps he had hoped to impress his colleagues by introducing them to a famous warden from faraway Ferelden. And they were both tired from the journey, and Alistair's mind was elsewhere, trying to come up with a plan to find out where Aedan was being held.

Partway through dinner, Otmar came to the table. "Sorry to disturb you Ser Alistair, but I've received a message from the keep. First Warden Clerel would like to see you in her office as soon as possible."

"Tonight?" He sighed. "Very well. Tell the messenger I will go there as soon as I am finished dinner. I don't need a guide. I remember the way."

"Very good, sir. I will not disturb you further."

As he made his way to the First Warden's Office after dinner, he reviewed what he knew about Clerel. He had never met her and what little he had heard-that she was tough, uncompromising and dedicated-did not set her apart from many Wardens. She was a veteran mage from Orlais who had been the second of the late Warden Commander of Orlais, Yves de Chambrais. Unlike her wily former superior, she did not have a reputation for subtlety or subterfuge; she was said to be blunt and direct. Alistair hoped that meant she would be honest about her intentions for Aedan, that she had summoned the High Council to have agreement on what was to be done before carrying out any plans.

He had no difficulty reaching her office. He was expected and recognized by the guards. As he entered the room, she rose to her feet and greeted him. She was tall, thin and stern in appearance, with short grey hair, clad in a grey robe with a blue gryphon on her breast. A staff lay propped against the desk that looked much as it had the last time he was here. Perhaps there were more books on the shelves, but she had not added much of a personal touch to the office.

"Welcome to Weisshaupt, Alistair of Ferelden. I am First Warden Clerel. I apologize for calling you here so late, as I am sure you must be tired. However, I wanted to meet you before the Council and it will begin tomorrow. You are the last representative to arrive."

"I came as soon as I was summoned."

"Of course. I understand that you have farther to travel than most." She sighed. "I won't deny that I'm disappointed that Commander Cousland sent you in his stead, however. No disrespect to you-I would not disrespect anyone who has faced an Archdemon in battle-but we are facing an unprecedented emergency. I expected the attendance of all the senior Wardens. " Her voice was deep for a woman, and crisp.

He blinked. He had not expected this. Was she playing a game? That was inconsistent with what he had been told about her. "Commander Cousland was unavoidably detained."

"Unavoidably detained. My predecessor warned me the Ferelden chapter was inclined to be difficult, but I would have thought under the circumstances..."

He studied her. Should he be honest? He knew he was not much of a liar. "You don't know?"

She glared at him. "How could I possibly know? As you say, you have come as quickly as could be expected. I can hardly have received any news of Ferelden ahead of you. Or are you saying that Commander Cousland isn't in Ferelden and might have sent a message to Weisshaupt?"

She did not appear to be dissembling. His shoulders slumped. "I don't know where Aedan is," he admitted. "He just-vanished-the day before Diterich arrived with his summons. I thought-" he took a deep breath, "I thought maybe you thought Aedan's daughter was responsible for the intensification of the Calling."

"Well, naturally we considered the possibility. But those of us who remembered the dreams about the girl, myself included, agreed that there was no indication of her presence in any of the new taint dreams. Don't you agree?"

"I do. But when he disappeared just as the call for the council went out, I thought it was not a coincidence."

Her brow furrowed momentarily then cleared. "Ah, you thought perhaps we had decided to try the ritual of following a departed soul. Aristomachus' research was quite interesting, I must say. But no. The girl is not our immediate concern, right now. And if she has returned to Thedas, we can locate her by other means, without sacrificing a useful, if unreliable, asset such as Commander Cousland."

 _We can locate her by other means?_ He wondered what she meant.

"No, I have no knowledge of the Commander's disappearance. You are certain he did not seek the Roads, as so many have?"

"He went out to check a report of a demon sighting in the afternoon. That evening we followed his trail to the residue of a rage demon but his track simply...ended there." He looked away, tried not to show how much pain he was in.

"Hmm, well that is...odd. But there's no way to investigate a Ferelden disappearance from here. And we have pressing business. I don't need to explain that to you."

"So this council has nothing to do with Aedan...or Aife. his daughter?"

"No. Our matter is more pressing: The future survival of the Order is at stake...and if we cannot find a way to sustain the Order, we must find a way to end the threat of the Blight while we still can."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "I...suppose, though I can't imagine how we would do that. Surely, we must find a way to weaken the Calling...?"

She shook her head. "We will discuss that tomorrow but there seems little hope. We have exhausted all lines of inquiry...but a member of the Magisterium has approached us with another proposition. It will require great sacrifice, but that is the way of the Wardens " She held up her hand. "But that can wait until tomorrow. I should allow you to rest after your journey. I wanted to meet you and find out why Commander Cousland wasn't here. You may go now."

He took his leave and went back to his quarters. He was unsure if he should be relieved or not. It seemed Aedan not only had not been sacrificed in a blood magic ritual, he had not been captured by the Wardens at all. But that meant he had no idea what had happened to Aedan. He had thought coming to Weisshaupt his only hope of saving him, but now worried that he should have sent someone else and searched Ferelden for Aedan, worried that he had made a mistake.


	6. Chapter Five: The High Council

The Council was not held in the room that Alistair had told his story five years before. That room had lacked the seating for the three dozen or so people who were in attendance. He looked about the room seeking friendly or familiar faces with little success. Of the seven members of that previous Council, it appeared that only Anshelm's second, Marschalc, and the dwarf Halfdan were present. He was not pleased to see either of them. He supposed he should not be surprised that the rest were gone, for they had all been senior Wardens and five years had passed. And many, many Wardens had gone to the Deep Roads in the past year. But searching the room finally yielded one face that made him smile, and from which he received a quick smile in answer. His friend Adelheid the archivist was still here, her quill poised to record the proceedings. Though he was delighted to see her, he could not help thinking that she looked tired and wan, her face much more heavily lined than he remembered.

He was Ferelden's sole representative, but it was obvious that many Commanders had brought a group of advisers with them. Perhaps he should have done the same, but the summons had come so suddenly, been delivered in such urgent terms, and at such an inopportune moment that he had not considered it.

First Warden Clarel was seated in a place of honor in a large, carved wooden chair at the front of the room, but stood to begin the proceedings. "I believe you all know why we are here today, so I will not trouble you with a description of our dilemma. But remember this: not only the survival of our Order is at stake. We are all that stands between Thedas and utter ruin. If we cannot find a way to preserve our Order, we must find some other way to prevent future Blights. THAT is the purpose of this Council! With that thought, I yield the floor to Senior Warden Libeste who will summarize our research into the cause of this recent intensification of the Calling, and our efforts to suppress it."

Alistair knew of Libeste by reputation, though they had never met. She and Meghann had corresponded over the past year. At Libeste's urging, Meghann had traveled to Soldier's Peak to go through Avernus' notes, hoping to understand how he had prolonged his life and evaded the Calling. But his unnaturally long life had finally ended two years ago, and without his help, Meghann had been unable to reconstruct his experiments. She had returned to Vigil's Keep with a wagon full of parchment and shared them with the rest of the mages there, hoping someone would find something she had missed.

Libeste was a short, plump, pink-cheeked woman that, in other circumstances, might well have appeared jolly. But her account was one of failure. None had been able to divine the cause of this uber-Calling. They had compiled copious statistics on how long people had been Wardens before succumbing to the Calling in the past, and on the characteristics of the oldest Wardens who were still resisting it. There seemed no discernible pattern, just as no Warden had ever recognized a pattern in who survived the Joining. There were few questions during this account. Alistair suspected that the other Wardens present had been kept aware of this work as he had, and it appeared that no substantive new findings had emerged in the months since he had last been updated.

When Libeste was done, Clarel stood once more. "And so, we stand on the brink of annihilation as an Order. But if we all succumb to the lure of the Deep Roads, what will become of Thedas in the next Blight? With this in mind, we commissioned a new project: a magical ritual to find the Old Gods before the Darkspawn do, to slay them before they can be turned into Archdemons."

Alistair had been slumping into his chair up to that point in the Council. There had been no new developments in Libeste's account, no encouragement. But now he sat bolt upright. _To find the Old Gods before the Darkspawn do. So that's what Clarel had meant when she had said they could locate Aife by other means!_ He had never imagined such a thing were possible but as he looked around the room, he did not see his surprise mirrored in other faces. This must have been discussed among them before he had arrived.

Clarel continued. "Senior Warden Bannacorso has traveled from Antiva City to report his progress on this project."

A tall man with long grey hair in a blue silk robe rose from a chair near the front and took the podium. In a deep sonorous voice, he described how he he had used a modification of the Chantry's phylactery magic to approach a solution for finding the Old Gods. They did not, of course, have the blood of Razikale and Lusikan,. However, with large amounts of lyrium and several mages working in tandem, they had found that a phylactery could be used to locate not only the mage but also, to a degree, their close relatives. Unfortunately, the power of the spell to do this diminished with distance, so that if the relative was far away, all that could be determined was a direction. When they had applied the method to the Archdemon blood held at the Warden stronghold in Antiva, they had received two "echoes": a relatively strong one to the south, and a much weaker one to the west. He theorized that one of the two sleeping old gods was located to the south of Antiva, either beneath the Waste or the northern Free Marches, while the other was far to the west in the Imperium or Anderfels. By performing the ritual in additional sites, they could narrow down the possibilities and eventually achieve an approximate location.

Alistair raised his hand. "That's fascinating but I don't quite see what we can do with the information. Even if we know where to dig to find the Old Gods, how would we tunnel through the Deep Roads to get to them? We lack the manpower for a full-scale invasion of the Deep Roads, and we'd need miners. We could never mount such an expedition. No single nation could do it...maybe if the Chantry could declare an Exalted March, but they're in no position to do such a thing, even if the Divine wished. And even if they could, the logistics of supporting such an army in the Roads would be impossible."

Bannacorso glanced to Clarel. "Acting Commander of Ferelden Alistair has raised a fair point, but one which lies outside the purview of Bonnacorso's research. You may be seated," she nodded to Bonnacorso. "To tunnel deep into the Roads is a challenge for which the limited manpower of the Grey Wardens is insufficient. But a member of the Magisterium has come to us with a proposal. I realize that to invite an outsider to our council is extraordinary, but these are extraordinary circumstances. She gestured to the two senior wardens posted at the door of the chamber and they opened the door. May I present Magister Livius Erimond."

A tall, dark-haired man with a a moustache and a long tuft of hair on his chin entered. He walked up to the front of the room beside Clarel and looked down his aquiline nose at those assembled. _What can he possibly be proposing?_ Alistair wondered _. An army of golems? But even if the secret of their manufacture had been rediscovered, it would take years to build such a thing, and a tremendous amount of raw materials._

He stared at the man. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he heard. Livius' voice was deep and his accent refined, but something about it set Alistair on edge. Maybe it was just that it reminded him of Aristomachus, another Tevinter. "First Warden Clarel presented me with an interesting challenge," he began. "How could one build an army capable of fighting its way through the Deep Roads and mining out a tunnel? The manpower required would be vast, and even if one could raise such an army, how would one supply it with food and water? No, an army of mortals could never work for such a task."

"Once the dwarves built golems but that secret is lost to us, and would take years to prepare. That would not work."

 _What can he be thinking? Necromancy?_

"But a mage has the ability to summon allies from the Fade-"

"Demons?" interjected Alistair, horrified, not waiting to be recognized. "You propose to raise an army of demons?" He looked around the room. "How can you even consider such a thing?"

Livius glared at him and continued calmly. "Doubtless, you are concerned about the risk of losing control. But I assure you that the binding spell-"

"Even Avernus with all his knowledge lost control of the demons he summoned at Soldier's Peak!"

The Tevinter's voice was just a little louder now. "He did not have this spell. What do _you_ know of binding demons, Warrior."

Seething, Alistair could feel the blood rushing to his face. He leaped to his feet. "I've fought often enough against Demons that mages thought they could control. And I've been where the veil has been torn by such magic. Even if the spell holds, what if the mage is killed? What if the Emissaries have a counterspell? We know little of their magic-"

Clarel struck the floor with her staff. "I cannot allow you to continue disrupting this meeting, Acting Commander Alistair. You must allow Livius to fully explain his proposal . Any further interruptions and I will have you removed from this chamber. Sit down!"

Alistair's mouth opened to spit out a retort but he swallowed it and sat down, still furious. His mood was not improved when Livius referred to his Templar training to dismiss his concerns. He bitterly longed to respond to that but a look from Clarel kept him quiet. The man continued to prattle on about the details of how the spell worked but Alistair was past listening. How could anybody support this appalling proposal? Yet as he looked around, he realized that this too must have all been discussed before he had arrived. Somehow, they had been convinced that this was a reasonable idea.

Finally, the man finished speaking. Alistair raised his hand, once more. Clarel sighed and recognized him. "Yes, Acting Commander Alistair? You have a question?"

He rose. He could not have hidden his anger, even had he wanted to. "Exactly how are you going to raise the necessary blood to raise so many demons?"

"Well, as it happens, many of you Wardens are seeking an end in the Deep-" he began.

"What? Are you mad?" He looked around the room. "Have you all gone insane?" Clarel's clenched her fist at him and gestured to the guards but he could not stop himself "You'll shred the veil and we'll loose a plague of demons on Thedas as bad as-"

"I warned you. Get him out of here!" commanded Clarel. Before Alistair could react, he was struck from behind by the flat of a sword blade. His last thought was that he hadn't expected to need a helmet for a council meeting


	7. Chapter Six: Beneath Weisshaupt

The next thing Alistair knew he was lying on a pile of straw in his undergarments, his head throbbing. The light was dim, but he could see a torch in a hallway through the iron bars. He dragged himself to his feet, and tried the door on the cage, though he knew it was pointless. He had failed in every way. Failed to find Aedan or even what happened to him, failed to prevent the Wardens from making a ruinous choice. And now he was trapped. He had lost his temper and understood why he had been ejected from the hall, but had not expected to be imprisoned.

The last time he had been in a cell was a long time ago, in Fort Drakon. But then Aedan had been with him and with his skills, they had escaped. He recalled with a smile how they had walked out of the fort clad in Denerim guard uniforms, passed for men going out on patrol. Now, he was alone. He could not even see another prisoner; the cages near him were all empty. Would they release him? _Not without agreeing to their plan_ , he suspected. They must fear a revolt among the rank-and-file Wardens, or they would not have imprisoned him.

 _If only Aedan had been here_. Aedan would have kept a cool head, been calm and convincing, like he had been when he had persuaded Ser Cauthrien to allow them into the Landsmeet. People listened to Aedan. Perhaps that was why Aedan wasn't here. Though Alistair no longer thought he had been captured for Aristomachus' ritual, he remained certain that the timing of Aedan's disappearance was no accident. Whoever was pushing the Wardens toward this horrendous course of action, whoever was behind this Livius Erimond, had wanted Aedan out of the way.

After a few minutes on his feet, he felt a bit nauseous and dizzy. He sat back down on the pile of straw, thinking he would rest a short while. He was not certain how much time passed before he heard a hissing whisper, "Alistair?"

He opened his eyes and looked blearily through the bars of his cage. Was he being released? As his focus sharpened he recognized the robed figure carrying a heavy pack unlocking his cell in the dim light. It was Adelheid. _An escape, not a release_. "How-" he started to ask, before she held a finger to her lips.

She handed him a robe that was too short for him, and a pair of men's boots that were a bit too small, and ushered him down the corridor, her eyes searching the dark grey stone wall. After they had moved a short distance, her hands moved along the wall. There was a moment of fumbling, then she pushed and winced at the noise as part of the wall swung open. They moved into the narrow passage and she tried to close the concealed door behind her, but even with Alistair's help, it remained slightly ajar. She shook her head and sighed, then turned toward the dark corridor that had been revealed. She spoke a soft word to her staff and it began to glow with the pale green light of veilfire, illuminating the way forward.

The corridor soon opened into a larger space. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could see that they were in a room with a vaulted ceiling supported by many columns extending in lines beyond the limit of his sight. They moved along a narrow walkway with water on either side of them. The only sound in the vast room was the dripping water and its echoes.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"The Cistern. We must move quickly but quietly. I cast a sleep spell on the guards but it will not hold for long."

Alistair remembered being told that the Wardens maintained an emergency water supply gathered from water collected from rooftops, in case of a siege, but had not imagined it would be so large "Will there be guards?"

"Not where we're going, but pipes connect this chamber to every rooftop in the _Kastell_ and the sound carries here." She urged him onward. After a time they heard a commotion behind them. The echoes made it impossible to make out individual words but Alistair felt sure his escape had been discovered, and they would soon find the open door through which they had passed. Adelheid cursed softly, but then clenched her fist in triumph as a peculiar sculpture came into view ahead of them.

It was a stone dragon's head, upside down, half in the water with the chamber wall a few metres beyond. It looked so ancient that Alistair wondered if it could be one of the dragon gods of the old Imperium. The fortress had not been built by the Imperium, but builders often reused stone from older structures. Adelheid touched the end of its snout with her staff and said: " _Sieg_!"

A semi-circular band on the wall beyond began to glow in the veilfire. Adelheid took a deep breath, struck the wall with her staff and said: " _Wachsamkeit_!"

Then within the glowing semicircle the wall vanished, revealing a corridor. Though the sound of footsteps was coming closer behind them, Adelheid no longer seemed worried, striding forward into the corridor. The wall reappeared behind them and they walked through a semi-circular tunnel, coming at last to a dead end. But Adelheid ran her staff over the floor, and eventually the veilfire revealed a rune upon it. She touched the staff to the rune and intoned: " _Opferung_!"

And the tunnel opened up before them. Alistair had to close his eyes as morning sun was blinding. They had escaped.

They emerged onto a narrow ledge high up on the rocky precipice on which Weisshaupt stood. Alistair looked at the shear cliff below them. "How do we get down from here?"

"Carefully. There should be a trail down to the _dorf_ but it may not have been used in centuries. This way, I think."

Alistair swallowed. He was still suffering the effects from the blow that had felled him the day before and did not trust his balance. He followed her lead with trepidation. "Do we have time to be careful?"

"I believe so. There are several entrances to the Cistern, so they will not suspect that we have left the _kastell_. They will search for some time before realizing we're outside. Those passages were designed as a way for people to move secretly out of Weisshaupt in case of a siege, but there has been no need of them for centuries. I doubt anyone will remember they exist, if they knew of them at all."

"How do _you_ know of them?"

She chuckled. "Being an archivist has its advantages. The original plans for Weisshaupt are in the library, as are the details of every alteration that has been made over the centuries. After the debacle yesterday, I went back to the library to seek them out."

They wound their way back and forth down the face of the cliff. At times they had to stretch and reach across gaps where the old track had crumbled away, and at others the rocks were slick with water seeps. Several times Adelheid asked Alistair if he was okay, and he denied any problems. It was merely a question of focus, he told himself. He had fought often enough in this condition, he could stay on his feet and follow a narrow and slippery path. He had no choice.


	8. Chapter Seven: Another Journey

When they reached the base of the cliff, Alistair could breathe easily again. Though he had tried to hide it from Adelheid, it had taken all the discipline he had learned as a lifetime warrior to ignore his headache and vertigo, to keep his balance and footing.

"Now, it's time to see about getting you some proper clothing and equipment for your journey. I'm afraid you will have to make do with the village blacksmith here."

"Journey? But I've had so much fun visiting Weisshaupt! Why should I ever want to leave? But I suppose you're right. There's not much for me to do but return to Ferelden." _And at least keep the Ferelden Wardens out of this terrible plan, even if it meant splitting the Order_. He sighed, thinking of his lost equipment. He was not sentimental about his armor, shield and sword, but they were dragonbone with powerful enchantments. Such equipment was not readily replaced. But his memories were more tied up with the little pouch he had left behind in his room in the Weisshaupt keep, with the figurines and runestones Aedan had given him during the Blight. All that he had left of Aedan... "If only Aedan had been here! They would have listened to him. I...failed"

Adelheid turned her head back toward him, her glance sharp. "Why isn't he? I wondered about that when you arrived."

Alistair described his disappearance the day before message that summoned him, and why he had come to Weisshaupt rather than seaching.

"I think you're right that it was no accident. But don't blame yourself. I think the decision was made long before you got here. Aedan wouldn't have changed anything."

He shook his head. "You don't know him."

She shrugged. "Perhaps not, but...something's happening. Erimond showing up when he did, when the Wardens were at the most desperate. Even the Mage-Templar war and the civil war in Orlais. I feel there's some larger pattern behind it all, behind this change in the Calling."

Now that he could relax, and seeing her in full sunlight, he realized that it was not age alone that had marked Adelheid in the five years since they had last met. Her eye sockets were hollow, her face gaunt, her pallor greyish. The uninitiated might mistake it for simple fatigue, but he had been a warden too long not to recognize the blight-sickness. Trying not to show that awareness, he looked away, glanced upward at Weisshaupt. "Do you think it's safe to get supplies in the _dorf_. Maybe we should find another town?"

And as they walked together toward the village, he saw that Adelheid was struggling to maintain her concentration as much as he was. Every so often, she would blink several times and shake her head. Before he had left for the Roads, Nathaniel had said that he heard the song even when he was awake. Alistair wondered what that would be like. He hoped not to find out soon.

"The only other towns with a blacksmith near here are on the main roads. And once they realize you've escaped the _kastell_ , they'll send men out on fast horses down the obvious routes, faster than any horse you could buy in the _dorf_ , even if I could afford one. We have to chance it."

Alistair had never spent much time in the _dorf_ when he visited Weisshaupt. It was a service community for the Wardens and a local market town, sleepy at this time of day. He knew it changed at night, when wardens in search of revelry would come down the hill.

While Adelheid went to shop for supplies, he went to the blacksmith with her money to see what could be obtained on short notice. Plate was not an option as it would need to be fitted, but he was able to obtain a chain hauberk and hood, a dented shield, and a broadsword with a serviceable edge. It was all common grey steel, the kind of equipment a conscripted heavy footman might use. But even if better had been available, Adelheid's funds were limited. After the visit to the blacksmith, he met Adelheid at the market and purchased some cotton underpadding so the chain mail would not chafe him, and a pair of sandals in the Tevinter style. He would have preferred boots, but sandals could be made in a few minutes, and he could not undertake a long journey in the ill-fitting boots Adelheid had given him. He wondered where she had gotten them. They certainly weren't hers, perhaps her deceased husband's?

As much as they had tried to be quick in the _dorf_ , it was past mid-day when they had finished their shopping. They cast anxious glances up toward the fortress, fearing to see signs of a manhunt expanding beyond the walls.

"You've taken a tremendous risk for me," he murmured. "Won't your absence from the library put you under suspicion? And people may remember seeing us together in the market."

"It doesn't matter for me anymore, Alistair. I'm not returning to Weisshaupt. I'll be traveling with you...for a short while.'

He closed his eyes and swallowed. As often as he had done this over the past year, it never seemed to get any easier, especially not when the Warden was a friend. He squeezed her hand and said nothing for a time, as they walked out of the village.

"So-where are we headed?"

"You'll have to make for Andoral's Reach in Orlais. The main roads to the ports in Tevinter or the Imperial Highway to Nevarra will be watched."

He nodded. "So the old warden track through the Blasted Hills. That's the way I came to Weisshaupt, before. But do we have enough water?"

"We should be all right. You came in late summer before. At this time of year, every creekbed will be filled with spring runoff from the Hunterhorn Mountains. The bigger worry may be how you go through Orlais, with the civil war on...Oh no!" she exclaimed as they heard horns in the distance behind them. "She looked back toward the fortress. They must be sending a search party out already. We're too exposed here. We'll be seen" She gesture to the rocky flats that surrounded them. "There's a canyon coming down from the plateau on our right, we've got to go there for cover. Run!"

He ran as fast as he could with his heavy pack. When they reached the shelter of ravine, he stopped to catch his breath. The ravine must have been completely dry last time he had been here, but now was filled with a fast-flowing stream. She urged him to follow her as she strove to find a way to ascend the steep wall of the canyon. "At least they won't be able to follow us on horseback unless they guess where we're headed," she panted with a wry smile.

"Even I don't know where we're headed now."

"Yes, well...I was up all night studying maps of the area, as well as of Weisshaupt. I had hoped to make it far enough along the trail to Andoral's Reach that they couldn't see us from Weisshaupt, but up on the plateau, there's a...short cut that will enable you to rejoin the trail further along. Through the Deep Roads."


	9. Chapter Eight: In Darkness

They did not stop until twilight, when they had descended into a sinkhole on the barren uplands and squeezed through the narrow passage that connected it to the Deep Roads. There had been no suitable campsite on the canyon wall, and they judged it too risky to light a fire on the plateau.

Once they were concealed by the earth, they lit the campfire,. Adelheid examined his head, rubbing an elfroot salve into the bump he had received from the flat of a sword at the council. "I am sorry I could not attend to this earlier, but I felt we needed to hurry. But we need you to be fit for battle in the Roads. How are you feeling?"

He brushed off her concern. He had fought, and fought well, in worse shape than this. "Do you think they will pursue us into the Roads?" he asked.

"I doubt it. They may not have seen us on the plain west of Weisshaupt, and there are far more obvious routes we could have taken. But I fear they will send a few trackers into the Western Approaches to Orlais, as well as south toward the Tevinter seaports and along the Imperial Highway to Nevarra. You will need to avoid drawing attention in Orlais."

He sighed. Being inconspicuous had always been easier for Aedan than for him. People tended to remember men of his size and coloring. Still, he was clad as a common footsoldier now; perhaps he could find work as a caravan guard on his way through Orlais? A lone traveler was more memorable than a member of a group.

"How far is it to where we can rejoin the surface trail?"

She consulted her map in the firelight. "Four or five days. You should not encounter too many Darkspawn on the way, for many Wardens have passed into darkness along this route over the past year."

She made a soup from their water and dried meats, but ate little of it herself. While Wardens had ravenous appetites in the months following the Joining, their hunger waned toward the end. Alistair knew this, and so he said nothing. After dinner, she inscribed warding glyphs around their camp. That way they could both sleep through without needing to set a watch.

Though it appeared to Alistair that Adelheid did not sleep. His own sleep was troubled and restless. He awoke several times in the night to find her sitting up, eyes wide and vacant, staring into the darkness, as if in a trance.

It had been two years since Alistair had last ventured into the Deep Roads. Despite all his experience, the lack of day and night cycles still unsettled him, as there were no cues to mark the passage of time. They found no trouble during the first "day"-a day being defined as their time of movement between camping-though the Darkspawn taint was never far from Alistair's awareness.

They were less fortunate the second time they set up camp. Alistair awoke to the crackling hiss of Adelheid's wards being triggered. Alistair sat bolt upright and fumbled for his sword and shield. He was in his chain hauberk already. Sleeping in mail was something he had learned to do a long time ago, though he had not needed to do so for some time.

The shock bolts released by the ward would not be enough to kill most enemies. But they made enough noise to awaken him and Adelheid, and would stun the intruders long enough to buy them some time to get their bearings.

He could only see three Hurlocks. _This should be easy._ But he could sense there were more Darkspawn not far away, and the light from Adelheid's staff and the flickering glow from the discharging wards did not illuminate far into the darkness. Two of the Hurlocks were armed with swords and shields and advanced toward them, while the third stayed back-was it drawing a glyph? "Stay back," he called out to Adelheid. "I'm going to go after the Emissary."

He felt a surge of energy that he knew came from Adelheid as he rushed forward, raising his strength, speed and stamina. He knocked one of the Hurlock's flat with his shield when it tried to block his path to the Emissary.. The glyph was beginning to glow when he swung his sword at its neck. It dodged out of the way but its concentration was broken and the spell was not completed. It raised its staff to try to defend itself, but he swept the weapon out of the way on the backswing and pummeled its head with his shield. He spun around to use the shield to deflect a slash from the Hurlock he had knocked over on his way, then finished off the Emissary with his sword. Turning around once more, he returned his attention to the Hurlock. Fighting individual Hurlock's was never much of a challenge, as he had learned their patterns long ago. He dispatched it easily while the other Hurlock advanced on Adelheid who was retreating toward the cave wall and firing bolts of energy from her staff.

"Look out behind you!" she called.

He turned around to see a large dark shape advancing upon them. An Ogre. He took a deep breath and braced himself against the shock wave as it took its huge mattock and struck the cave floor. He glanced quickly behind him and was relieved to see that Adelheid had been far enough away that she-and the Hurlock she was fighting, unfortunately-had been far enough away that they had not been affected.

When the shaking of the earth stopped, Alistair sprinted forward, knowing he would have a chance to strike a blow while the lumbering Ogre pulled its mattock back up. He slashed at its left leg, then retreated to his right as the mattock swung in his direction. Normally, he would have deflected it with his shield, but he wasn't sure this shield was strong enough to take the blow. Instead, he bashed the Ogre's left leg with his shield as he retreated, hoping that the bruising contact and bleeding wound would be enough to hobble it.

The Ogre roared in pain and reared back. A less experienced Warden than Alistair might have thought to press his advantage, but he had been caught by an Ogre's left hand grab in the Circle Tower once and had been wary of it ever since. He retreated, leaving it grasping at air, then circled it to his right, pummeling its left leg once more. The Ogre's leg buckled and he forced his sword upward as it collapsed and was drenched in its black blood as he plunged it into its abdomen.

Pulling his sword out of the Ogre's carcass, he turned back to see that Adelheid had finished off the last Hurlock. But the combat was not over yet. Two more dark shapes-Genlocks he guessed by their small size-had entered the cave from another passageway.

He ran toward them, but even with any fatigue he might have felt being erased by her magic, he would not get there in time. They were too close to her. She raised her staff, spoke some words...and the two genlocks were frozen solid in place.

Alistair hadn't seen that spell in a while, but he still remembered what to do. He pulverized one of the Genlocks into bloody fragments with his shield, while Adelheid shattered the second with another spell. He spun around, ready for more, but it seemed they were safe for the moment. "No more? A shame. We were just getting warmed up."

She flashed a smile. "Well, I'm glad that in my first Darkspawn battle in a while, I remembered to hold some spells in reserve. In the excitement, I might have thrown everything at that first Hurlock." Adelheid reset her wards and they made camp once more.

After awakening, they passed through the Roads without further mishap, and set camp once more. Soon after arising again, they came to one of the great Dwarven crossroads. Even in ruins and seen only in the pale light from Adelheid's staff, the chamber was still impressive. The dwarven paragons whose images were carved into its walls stared impassively upon them, and the stone was carved into bas-reliefs and writing, recording events of the distant past. Three broad passages exited the room.

Adelheid consulted her map with the veilfire from her staff. "If we were to continue straight, we would soon be in Kal Sharok. But you must take the left passage, back to the surface. Look-we're so close to the surface here, a little daylight is filtering through". She pointed toward the left passage, then showed him where they were on the map, and pushed it into his hands."

"You...will not accompany me further?" He winced as she shook her head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I want you to have this," she said, pressing a small object into his hand. He opened his eyes and saw he was holding a white runestone.

"But I gave this to you," he protested.

"I know. But I don't need it where I'm going, and Aedan gave it to you. I thought you might want to have it, since I'm sure you lost...other keepsakes."

This was true. The rest of the collection of stones and figurines that Aedan had given him during the Blight were back in Weisshaupt. He gathered her into his arms and held her. "Are you sure? You can't travel with me longer or...or maybe I could continue longer with you..."

"You must hasten back to Ferelden. And I-don't be sad for me, my dear. It's long past my time. I had begun to feel the Calling even before its quickening. I only stayed as long as I did because I hoped to help Libeste in her research, a hope that proved vain. But I'm glad that I stayed so that I could help you." She reached up and stroked his cheek. "Maybe I was meant to help you, if there's such a thing as fate."

"Is there nothing-nothing I do to help..." He fought back tears, though he had known this was coming.

"There IS something you can do." She pulled back from him, then took his gauntleted hands in hers. "You must save the Wardens. us from ourselves."

He nodded. She hugged him once more then pulled away from him, and began to walk along the passage to the right. He stood and watched her go: a small, robed figure lit by her staff, the light fading and winking out into the darkness. Then with a heavy heart, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward the light.


	10. Chapter Nine: Alone in the Light

In the past, he had always felt a sense of relief, and of freedom, as he approached an exit from the Deep Roads. But this time it felt different. He hoped that it was just his sorrow at having left Adelheid behind, and his trepidation at the difficult task ahead that tempered his enthusiasm. The alternative was not attractive to contemplate.

As always after a few days in darkness, the late afternoon sunlight was painful when he emerged on the surface. Nor was it unusual for his eyes to water at the first sight of bright sunlight after days in the darkness. But he soon realized that his eyes were not merely watering, but weeping, and that he could not stop.

He had held back too much emotion over the past few weeks, and now it overwhelmed him. When Aedan had vanished, he had fought his panic, struggled to lead the wardens in his absence. Even at the Council, he had felt forced to keep his anger in check. And with Adelheid, he had suppressed his anguish over her decision to enter the Roads, as he had suppressed it with so many other brothers and sisters in recent months.

Now it all poured out of him. He wept for Adelheid, and Nathaniel, and far too many others giving up their lives too soon. He wept for the Wardens who might be sacrificed in blood magic rituals for if Lucius Erimond's plan was followed. He wept for his fears for Aedan.

And though it pained him to admit it, he wept for himself. Once again, his life had unraveled. Why did this keep happening to him?

The first time had been when a young bride's jealousy had banished him to the Chantry. In retrospect, perhaps this had been for the best, for he might have wound up a stableboy in Redcliffe, otherwise. And to be fair, Eamon had tried to visit him...but for the child he had been then, it had been so wrenching, he had felt abandoned.

The second time had been more serious. The elation of joining the Wardens, of finding purpose and fellowship and meaning had been followed by the catastrophe at Ostagar. Once again, he had felt himself adrift and alone. But he had not been alone. Aedan had been with him, and with Aedan's help-and Aedan's love-he had rebuilt his strength and faith.

The third time had been five years ago in Val Royeaux. Shocked by Aedan's betrayal of Leliana, troubled by what Aedan had done with Morrigan to save them, he had lost trust in his lover and fled to Weisshaupt to tell the story of the Fifth. That was the last time he had cried like this. But as painful as that separation had been, perhaps it too had been necessary. He had been forced to rely on his own judgment more as a result, and they had rebuilt their relationship on more equal terms. If Aedan had vanished like this five years ago, he might have been paralyzed with despair and self-doubt.

As it was, he had been able to hold himself together thus far, and had been able to take action. Maybe going to Weisshaupt had been a mistake, but at least it had been his mistake. Even so, now that Adelheid was gone, he felt crushed by the weight of responsibility for the fate of the Wardens and Aedan, and had no one to help him shoulder this burden. He did not lack for direction or purpose as he had in Val Royeaux. It was more like the aftermath of Ostagar, but this time, he was alone.

Traveling from the Anderfels to the Western Reaches of Orlais was far easier in spring than in late summer. As Adhelheid had promised, every creek bed was filled with water. The only danger was that some streams might be dangerously high for fording and there were no bridges on this little used track.

In other circumstances, he might have found the trek pleasant. The cinnabar and ochre-tinged rocks exposed in the cliffs had a stark beauty and the temperatures were pleasant during the day time. It had been fiercely hot when he had last taken this route before. But with nothing to distract him, his mind kept racing with his fears for Aedan's fate and for the outcome of the plans to build a demon army. And the vast emptiness of this land served to reinforce his loneliness.

It was better to focus on the task at hand, and not think too far ahead, he decided. He needed to get back to Ferelden, to the Wardens there. Maybe they had found Aedan or Aedan had escaped and was waiting anxiously for his return. In any event, he could do nothing about seeking him here, and he could do nothing to stop Erimond's plan by himself.

His most immediate problem was money. Adelheid had done her best with her limited savings, but much of them had gone for his gear and he wasn't sure he had enough for a journey back to Ferelden. If he had a bow, he could hunt for food and save money that way, but hunting with a sword was challenging, and would slow him down.

He kept returning to the idea of finding work as a guard. In such unsettled times, it should not be difficult to find someone-a merchant or a traveler-bound for Val Royeaux who needed guards. And if he were paid and someone else was providing supplies, he would then have enough money to buy passage to Ferelden from there. He decided that he would ask an Innkeeper in Andoral's Reach if he had any leads on work.

Though the days were pleasantly warm, the nights at this time were cold. He felt Aedan's absence the most when he lay down on his cold bedroll, wrapping himself in the robe Adelheid had brought him as well as a blanket. But it was not enough. Lying with Aedan at his side had warmed his spirit, as well as his body.

His first night after returning to the surface, he dreamed of him. They were traveling together in the Deep Roads. Unusually for a Deep Roads dream, they did not fight. Instead, they walked arm and arm in the dim light provided by rivers of lava and deep mushrooms. They came in time to a vast cavern which extended into total darkness. Alistair was afraid and stopped but Aedan continued forward, seeming to fade into the darkness. His lover turned and his shape was faint and ghostly, beckoning him with his hand to join him. And then Alistair heard the song...quiet at first but gaining in strength...


	11. Chapter Ten: Mercenary

Alistair awoke in his cold bedroll, wishing Aedan was there to comfort him. To see Aedan's image in his dream calling him into the Roads had shaken him profoundly. Maybe it had been a coincidence that he had just happened to be dreaming of Aedan when the taint kicked in, or maybe-and this worried him-as the taint dreams became seductive instead of frightening, they began to borrow images from his mind that were soothing. Or maybe it was a ghostly visitation...I feel sure you would have felt something if he had died, Meghann had said the day after he vanished. Maybe this was a sign that Aedan was gone now...

But he refused to believe that, in part because he feared his resistance to the Calling would weaken if there were no hope of finding Aedan again. At the very least, he had to learn what had happened to him. And try and stop...whatever was happening. _I feel there's a larger pattern behind it all_ , Adelheid had said. She might well be right, but how could he discern the pattern?

As he traveled the desolate lands between the Anderfels and Orlais, he tried to keep his mind occupied, to stay away from thoughts of Aedan's fate and the strengthening of his Calling. And so he turned over and over in his head what he knew about what was going on around Thedas, about what had happened in Kirkwall, the revolt of the Circles, the severing of ties between the Templars and the Chantry, the heightened Calling, the civil war in Orlais, the appearance of this Master Erimond in Weisshaupt, just when the Wardens were at their most desperate. So many seeds of chaos, but who gained from it all? The plot seemed beyond Tevinter's Magisterium.

The problem was that his skills were those of a warrior, not a spy. He was ill-suited to the task of uncovering an international conspiracy. This realization led him to thoughts of who he might know witb the right skills. Aedan, of course, but he was lost to him. He thought Zevran would help him, if he asked. But while they heard from the Antivan once every couple of years, he had no way to reach him, as he had to stay hidden from the Crows. Iain Hawke? Alistair had grown close to him in the short time they had worked together against Corypheus, but he had vanished shortly after the Mage's revolt.

Then. he thought of Leliana. She and Aedan had not parted as friends, and she might be reluctant to help look for him. But surely if he explained what was at stake...if Adelheid was right and everything was connected. They had not had any communication from her since Val Royeaux, but she might be with her lover Sybille. At the very least, Sybille would know how to find her. Even if the Comtesse were not in Val Royeaux, her estate at Montfleurie was not too far away. He could seek her out.

And so, by the time he had left the Blasted Hills and arrived in Andoral's Reach, a plan had formed in his mind. It might not be a very good plan, he thought with a wry smile to himself, but at least it was a constructive course of action. He would get work as a guard of someone traveling to Val Royeaux, and look for Sybille de Montfleurie there, to reestablish contact with Leliana and gain her help. Then he would head for Vigil's Keep.

The first part of the plan went smoothly enough. He inquired at the Inn, and learned there was a company of mercenaries based in town. The next morning he went to their headquarters to see about getting hired.

The mercenary captain looked at him though narrowed eyes. "Why are you looking for work as a caravan guard now? Even though a truce has been called between Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard, I'm sure they're still hiring, and they'll pay better. Are you a coward?"

Alistair's eyes bulged in disbelief-who had ever accused him of that?-but, of course, the man knew nothing about him. He had not even given his real name, calling himself Alan Redcliffe in the hopes that it would be shortened to Al which he would respond to naturally He snorted. "I've fought men enough. But I wish to return to Fereldan and have no care for Orlesian affairs."

The older man shrugged. "Many of those who fight care little for the outcome. If not to get involved in Orlesian affairs, what are you doing here?"

Aedan had once told him that when dissembling it was best to give as little information as possible, and not to stray far from the truth. "I had a contract in the Anderfels. That contract is concluded."

A bushy eyebrow was raised. "You crossed the Blasted Hills alone. Well...that takes a certain amount of courage, I'll grant. Still, the company has a reputation to maintain. I need to be sure you can fight. I'll get some blunted swords and we'll spar a while."

"Very well." This was not unexpected, but it was awkward. A display of his full skills would make the captain wonder who he really was, and he needed to avoid standing out. And so he restricted himself to the most basic shield maneuvers, reacted a little slower than he could, and was lazy with his footwork. He was often off balance as they sparred, and his strikes were all upper body strength. A man of his size and power could best most common soldiers through his advantage in muscle, even with poor technique. He tried to appear as a brute, someone with limited training.

It seemed he succeeded. When they were done, the captain rubbed his shoulder where Alistair had landed a blow, and remarked, "If you learned to use your legs, you'd really pack a wallop. But I guess you'll do for the task at hand. As it happens, there is a merchant taking advantage of the truce to take his goods to Val Royeaux. With the news we've had, I expect he can be persuaded to take on one more man.

"But with the truce, aren't things back to normal?"

"Well...it seems a bunch of deserters styling themselves 'the Freemen of the Dales' have declared themselves independent of Orlais. They're no more than bandits, but they're cause for concern. But I'm guessing a half-dozen armed men will serve as sufficient deterrent to keep Estienne's goods safe."

Alistair nodded, and agreed to return tomorrow morning to join the caravan.


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Exalted Plains

Alistair woke up early the next morning and went out to meet the merchant and his fellow mercenaries. The job was a simple one. Estienne and his assistant would be taking a horse-drawn wagon to Val Royeaux laden with incense, spices, and tapestries and carpets in the designs for which Andoral's Reach was famous. Alistair, along with three other footman and two crossbowmen, were to look menacing enough to deter anyone who might try to rob the merchant. "After all," observed Geoffroi, their leader on the mission, "the so-called Freemen of the Dales are deserters, cowards. They'll be looking for easy pickings, not robbery that they have to fight for." Like the mercenary captain he had met the day before-but unlike the other mercenaries-he spoke in the style of Orlesian familiar to Alistair from the Chantry and Sybille's household. He wondered if the man had been born a nobleman, but fallen into disfavor through the machinations of the great Game.

The other foot-soldiers were Eudes, a big, balding man with a scarred cheek, and Piers, who looked even younger than Aedan had been during the Blight. The archers were Melisende and Raimond. Melisende was a tall, plain, flaxen-haired woman and Raimond had grey in his beard and walked with a slight limp.

As they traveled, Raimond walked in front of the wagon while Melisende guarded it from the rear, and the others made a square perimeter around the wagon, with Alistair being forward and to the left. They did not talk much when the wagon was moving, but Alistair gained some sense of the group's dynamics when they stopped and made camp. It seemed that young Piers was as new to them as Alistair, while the other four had worked together for some time. Though they did not say so directly-at least, not when Alistair was an earshot-he had the sense that they would have preferred to not have a green youngster and a stranger on this mission. But they worked for the mercenary captain, and they had all been assigned this mission. They would be tolerated, as long as they did what Geoffroi told them and didn't get in the way.

After a few days, they left the steppes of western Orlais for the wide expanses of plains that were the Orlesian bread basket. But the fertile farmlands that Alistair had seen on his last journey to Weisshaupt five years ago were not as he remembered them. He had expected to see peasants out plowing and planting their fields everywhere, but many fields were overgrown with weeds and some villages seemed entirely abandoned. The war between Empress Celene and her cousin Duke Gaspard had been fought here last fall. They may have called a truce, but it would be years before the farming communities of the Exalted Plains recovered.

He also saw vestiges of another, far older, war. The crumbling figures of elven gods could be glimpsed, peering out from copses of trees and shrubs These had been the lands of the Dalish Elves once, before the Exalted March that lent its name to these plains had driven them into a nomadic lifestyle on the fringes of Orlais and Ferelden. Seeing them brought back memories of his days of studying history in the Chantry...and the fury with which the Dalish storyteller they had met had given their side of the story.

They saw few travelers on the road, but also saw no sign of the Freemen of the Dales. Nor did they see any sign of patrols, which Alistair thought increasingly odd as they approached the ramparts of a large fortress complex. Though he knew many of the forts in the area were long-abandoned, Geoffroi had said that Fort Revasan was an active stronghold held by the troops of Duke Gaspard. As they followed the road skirting its western ramparts, Alistair expected to be challenged, to be asked to identify themselves. Yet he saw no Orlesian solidiers at all.

"I don't like this," said Geoffroi. "They may have called a truce, but I can't believe Gaspard's men would abandon the Fort to the Freemen. Keep your eyes and ears open for trouble."

Alistair nodded in agreement. But it was neither his eyes nor his ears that provided the first warning. It was his nose, as a stomach-turning charnel house smell wafted his way on the easterly breeze. The odour was soon followed by the sight of six decaying corpses scrambling over the ramparts toward them. They were still clad in the remains of Orlesian uniforms and armed with swords.

"Archers: retreat up the road, with Estienne and the wagon! Fire only if you can get a clear shot" Geoffroi roared. "The rest of us will hold them back."

Six walking dead against four fighting men, backed up by two archers. Should be easy enough, if there are no more. Alistair thought of the waves that had nearly overwhelmed them at Redcliffe village years ago with a shudder. But this was manageable. He advanced on the monsters as the four melee fighters formed a line, Eudes to his right, Piers on his left and Geoffroi on the other side of Piers.

Walking dead were physically tough, but not challenging opponents. They were slow and wielded their weapons with little skill, but their lack of vital organs meant they were unfazed by wounds that would disable a mortal fighter. Chopping off limbs-preferably heads-would slow them down, and even then you had to burn the remains. Alistair lopped off the shield arm of his opponent, and was preparing his next strike when he felt a familiar chill, that threatened to sap his strength. _Oh, no...there's a shade here. Or a revenant..._

It wasn't the one he was fighting. He glanced to his left where Geoffroi was taking on two of them. He saw Geoffroi's shield arm crumple with weakness when he was struck. It must be that one.

There was no time to waste. He parried the attack of his own opponent with his sword, and spun to his left, flattening Piers' opponent with his shield. He then leaped over the falling corpse, planted his feet behind the shade and tried to strike off its head with his sword. _So much for trying to pass for an common mercenary._ But what choice did he have? Unfortunately, his cheap grey steel sword was not sharp enough to separate its head cleanly. He had to strike it a second time, fending off its sword with his shield as it whirled around to defend itself, its head wobbling on its half-severed neck. But the second sword-blow finished the job. With the creature's defeat, Geoffroi's strength returned and he was able to resume fighting the other one.

Alistair paused to survey the situation. Piers had taken the opportunity presented by Alistair's shield bash to his opponent to press his attack and seemed to have it under control. But Alistair's move had left Eudes facing three of them, and the one farthest to his right had broken past him and was headed for the archers and the wagon.

Actually, it hadn't travelled far at all. It was Melisende who was being dragged involuntarily toward the corpse. A revenant, damn it! He ran directly toward the creature, lowering his head and moving into a crouching position behind his shield before making contact.

Success! His weight and momentum had knocked it over. The revenant would not be stunned as a human opponent would, but it lost its grip on Melisande who was able to pull away. Alistair slashed at the thing twice while it came to its fee then blocked a sword blow with his axe. He could feel the coldness of it, trying to drain his strength away but he held firm.

The dangerous moment in the encounter had come and gone. The shade was dead, and Alistair had taken on a revenant by himself at Redcliffe long ago, when the rest of the party had fallen. He was more skilled now, and while the arrows Melisende and Eudes tried to shoot at it were little more than a distraction, he was confident in taking it down. The other mercenaries could handle the ordinary walking dead. It was soon over.

"We must burn the bodies, or they may rise again to trouble other travelers," Alistair warned the others.

"And you know this how, Alan Redcliffe? Where have you fought such things?" asked Geoffroi.

"I-grew up in a town called Redcliffe in Ferelden. I was a bastard, that's why I'm named after the town. About ten years ago, there was an attack on the town by an army of such things. The townsfolk formed a militia to defend ourselves." It was almost all true.

They gathered the bodies up on a pyre and then made their way down the road. "Will there be more?" asked Geofrroi.

Alistair shrugged. It worried him that there had been any at all. A few walking dead might happen spontaneously after a battle, from the unquiet spirits of the fallen. But the shade and revenant required demonic spirits to enter the fallen. It seemed unlikely that the Freemen could be responsible unless there were apostates in their numbers. But he kept these thoughts to himself.

Geoffroi turned toward him as they walked. "I may owe you my life and I suppose I should be thankful. But you were described to me as a fighting man of ordinary skill, and I cannot believe the Captain would misjudge you so, unless he were deliberately misled. Why are you pretending to be less than you are? You could have earned far more money. What are you playing at?" He spoke in a low voice, so the other members of the company could not hear them.

Alistiar took a deep breath. "I'm not playing. Well, I...may have downplayed my skills but I-I have my reasons. I'm not an outlaw or a deserter, if that's what you're thinking. You have nothing to fear from me."

The older man scowled at him, but said nothing more as they continued down the road.


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Torn Sky

They met no more undead along the road that day, and when the company arrived in the town of Churneau at nightfall, the other mercenaries were in a cheerful mood. Alistair's demonstration of unexpected skill did not seem to disturb the rest of the group: he supposed their worry had been that the two new members would not pull their weight. Now, they had faced battle as a team without any serious injuries, and that always brought warriors together in good spirits.

With Estienne's permission, they were allowed to stay at an inn in town tonight, rather than camp out on the road. Geoffroi had even persuaded Estienne to pay for their lodging and meal, in reward for their successful defense of the wagon that morning.

By the end of the meal, the tankards were flowing freely and the men were up for more sport. "I hear there's a house with some fine ladies. Bet they're just itching for some strong fighting men. Maybe strong fighting women, too." Eudes winked at Melisende, who ignored him. Geoffroi, Raimond and Piers were easily persuaded to join him on this outing, but Alistair demurred, to their obvious surprise.

"What's wrong with you, man? A little bloodshed should always get a man up for some action. You never know when you'll have another chance. You don't think you're gonna get anywhere with that one, do you? She don't ever do fellow sellswords."

Melisende took notice of him now, with a hard stare. "A girl's gotta have some standards."

Eudes continued to try to get Alistair to join them. "They might have boys to fuck too, if that's what you like. Or maybe you want some of this?" He grabbed his crotch and laughed.

Alistair looked away. "Someone is waiting for me in Ferelden."

"You think so, huh?" Eudes shook his head. "I'd have thought you were old enough to know better. Well, it's up to you. We're off for some fun." The other men left, leaving Alistair alone at the table with Melisende.

After they had left, they sat quietly nursing their ales for a few moments before Alistair asked, "So you and Raimond are not...I mean, you seem very close."

She sighed. "No. Well, we are, but not in that way. He trained me in archery. He had retired from the Orlesian army to the village I lived in. But we were on the frontier with Nevarra, and when war came our lord fled rather than try to defend his castle. Raimond tried to organize us to defend ourselves, to use the keep's walls, and so he trained a number of us in archery. But..." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "It was not enough. He hoped a show of resistance would convince them to go away, but I they wanted what little supplies we had...but some of us escaped with Raimond. And after...we joined a mercenary company together. I owe him...everything, really, so...yes, we're close."

"But never...? Sorry, I should not intrude."

She shrugged. "Everyone knows our story. When we met, Raimond was married. But-his wife died in the attack. So, wasn't really the time...and I'm no beauty, in any case. Besides, it's not a good idea to get involved with men in a mercenary company. Maybe women city guards can get involved with their comrades but mercenary work...it's a different breed of men. And there aren't many women. You have to keep some distance."

Alistair nodded. Female Wardens often took a similar view.

"So how did you wind up on the road?" she asked. "When I saw you I had you figured for a brute basically, but you're amazingly agile. And you don't pull off moves like you did this morning without serious training-"

Her words were interrupted by a tremendous crack of thunder that shook the common room of the inn to the rafters. Strange, They weather was fair at sunset and I have heard no other thunder. Then Alistair heard screaming in the streets outside. "What's going on?"

Melisende shook her head and they looked toward the entrance. There was no sign of rain, and people were pushing out of the common room into the street to see what was going on. They followed them.

A crowd had gathered in the street, and everyone was looking up at the sky. Alistair lifted his head and followed their gaze up...

To a shimmering, pale green glow in the sky to the southeast, as if the heavens had been wounded and were bleeding veilfire.

"What can this be? I've never seen...anything like this in the sky" asked Melisende.

His eyes wide and staring upward, Alistair shook his head.

"You're gone so pale. Does this mean something to you."

Alistair pursed his lips and shook his head again. "No, I can't imagine what it could be. But it seems an ill omen."

But he was lying, and he knew he was a poor liar. He had an idea what it might be, but was too horrified to speak it aloud.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Demons

Alistair could only pray that he was wrong, but the flickering, ghostly green light recalled to him Soldier's Peak, and the tear in the veil that had resulted from Avernus' demon summoning. _Maker, what has happened? If that thing in the sky was a tear in the veil, it was so vast...what could do something like that?_ He thought immediately of Magister Erimond's scheme, but this lay to the southeast. Surely, if the Wardens were responsible, the tear would have appeared in the west, in the Anderfels?

Alistair stayed up late that evening, staring at the sky. But there was nothing he could do but worry. The world had not yet ended, and so he went to bed, but did not have a restful night.

The next morning he hoped in vain that the events of the previous evening had been a dream, but the glow was still in the sky when he awakened, though it was harder to discern in daylight. The merchant train set out for Val Royeaux. The other men were cheered when they saw that the thing in the sky did not grow during the day, for it meant that it was far away, perhaps not even in Orlais. But it worried Alistair all the more, for the farther away it was, the larger its scale must be.

Over the next few days they moved southward toward Val Royeaux. The lords in this part of Orlais had remained loyal to Celene and the land was not scarred by war as the Exalted Plains had been. Yet the mood in every town remained uneasy. In the taverns, when drink had been consumed and tongues loosened, the men's fears gained voice. If the planned peace talks failed and war resumed, Duke Gaspard's men might sweep south into these lands and set them aflame. Or if the talks resulted in Celene's abdication, the local lords who supported her would fall from favor or might even lose title. The men-at-arms who served in their armies could lose their patrons.

And then there was that awful glow in the heavens that refused to go away. An ill omen at best, in the days that followed its appearance, wild rumors spread of monsters ravaging the lands. At least, Alistair prayed the rumors were wild.

Alistair aside, their little company was not perturbed. The mercenaries were not people who put much stock in ill omens and rumors. They worried about what was in front of them and gambled that their steel would be enough to protect them. That thing in the sky must be far away, as it seemed no bigger after a week of travel than it had at the outset, and was not their concern.

But Alistair could take no comfort in that. M _aker, it must be over Ferelden. What had happened? Had the mages that gathered at Redcliffe worked some terrible magic to try and protect themselves from the Templars? It was the right direction for Redcliffe, as near as he could tell..._

And so his eyes rarely strayed far from the heavens to the southeast as they marched southward toward Val Royeaux. A few times he stumbled over small obstacles in the road, as a result, but that was of little import. He was not sure what he expected to learn by watching the hole in the veil, yet he felt a compulsion.

But a days journey from Montfort, he rued his lack of focus on matters close at hand. Had he been more attentive, he might have spotted a smaller stain of veilfire in the air, far closer at hand, a few dozen strides from the road they traveled. He did not notice it until there was the telltale crackling sound and green streaks spreading outward from it that signaled that something was coming from the other side.

Shapes soon manifested out of the green streaks, three of them. One was wispy and blue, hovering above the ground: some sort of wraith, though the ones he had fought in the past were green. Another was a large spindly humanoid creature that he suspected was a terror demon of some kind. The third shape was larger still, grey and covered in hard plates, its long arms ending with huge claws. Oh, Maker no! A pride demon.

They were too close for fleeing to be an option; the wagon would be hard to move off the road. A glance at his fellows, their faces pale and their jaws slack told him Geoffroi would have no idea how to fight these enemies. He would have to take charge.

He barked out orders, praying they would not be challenged. "Archers, fire at the wispy blue creature!" Wraiths were relatively weak but were difficult to keep in contact with in melee. "Footman, fight the spindly green thing. Try to keep it pinned down and Don't look in its eyes!" He took a deep breath. "I'll take on the big one." He had never attempted to take on a pride demon alone, and he knew his equipment was not up to his usual standard. But he feared anyone he brought in to help him would be killed. He could beat it by himself. He must.

Geoffroi hesitated for a moment, then shouted, "Do as Alan says. He seems to know these enemies as I do not."

Alistair charged forward engaging the pride demon before it could attack anyone else. He barreled into its legs with his shield with enough force to topple most opponents but the thing merely grunted and swung at him with its claws, tearing a hole in his mail covering his shoulders as he twisted away from it.

Alistair slashed at the creature's legs with his sword and bashed its knee with his shield repeatedly, each time scurrying about its legs to avoid the the reach of its sharp talons. When it reared back, signaling that it would fire a bolt of lightning, he retreated and blocked the bolt with his shield and his Templar-trained will. He was in large part successful in this, but so much running was tiring and he feared the thing was little fazed by the cuts and bruises he inflicted to its legs.

When he had space, he glanced at his fellows, ascertained that they were not being overwhelmed. The terror could knock down or frighten into inaction one or two of the footmen, but at least one was always able to engage it and prevent a fatal blow to his fellows. This particular wraith seemed to be imbued with lightning-perhaps it was charged by the pride demon somehow?-but despite the shocks, Melisende and Raimond appeared to have the upper hand.

This combat was winnable, if he could defeat the pride demon. But he was going to have to take bigger risk to fell the thing. He needed to strike at its torso, but that meant getting much closer than could be done in safety. He continued to scratch away at its legs, but he would not be able to keep this up long enough. He could avoid one arm while striking but he would have to take the other full force on his shield and pray it held.

The wraith vanished, felled by the archers' arrows. "Fire at the big one." called out Geoffroi as he hacked at the terror's legs. "We've got this one." The terror knocked Geoffroi down and jumped on top of him but Piers slashed at the thing, driving it back.

Arrows flew into the pride demons upper body. Not enough to be more than a distraction, but Alistair steeled himself and prepared to strike. He ran forward and leaped, his sword thrusting upward into the creature's abdomen, his body twisting to avoid the demon's left arm and blocking the right with his shield.

The shield shattered and Alistair could feel the bone in his left forearm cracking with the force of the blow. He rolled on the ground, as black blood gushed from the Pride Demon where he had struck its torso. The thing fell, and he pressed forward again, ignoring his useless left arm and hacked at its throat before it could rise, bringing forth another cascade of blood.

He paused to catch his breath, then turned back to the others to help them finish off the Terror. They had survived.

But then, the crackling sound came again. Oh no! Another Terror appeared barely two strides from where Raimond stood. Instinctively, he glanced up and caught its gaze...and froze in fear as the Terror pounced upon him, its claws raking through his leather armor. Melisende frantically shot arrows into the demon, as Alistair and Geoffroi charged the creature.

They were too late. By the time they had felled it, Raimond had been shredded. "We've got to get out of here!" Alistair yelled. "More may come."

Stricken, Melisende cried out, "We can't just leave him!"

Geoffroi shook his head. "We can do nothing for him, Melisende. Alan is right. I am sorry." He led them away, leading the men, along with the horrified merchant and his wagon down a farm track that he hoped would enable them to circumvent the tear in the veil, to rejoin the road farther south.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: A Familiar Inn

They had planned to reach Montfort that night, but the battle and the necessary detour to avoid further encounters delayed them. Instead, they were still a short distance from town by nightfall. Estienne gave them money for an inn, as he had after their previous fight, but Alistair almost balked at entering when they arrived. He had been there before.

Just his luck. They had chosen one of the few inns in all of Orlais where someone who worked there would recognize him. Worse, it was an inn frequented by Wardens from the nearby post at Mont Vieuxmur. If word had come from Weisshaupt to watch for the fugitive warden Alistair of Ferelden, he might have walked into a trap.

But it was too late to back out now. He entered the inn with the others. As luck would have it, the common room was bustling, very different from how he remembered it. He saw Genevieve across the room but turned his head away, and was relieved that another server that he did not know attended their table. It had been five years, and the longer hair and increasingly bushy beard that had sprouted since he left Weisshaupt might prevent her from recognizing him, but it was best to be safe. If there were any other Wardens there tonight, he did not sense them. Perhaps he would be safe.

The mood of the mercenary company was somber, in contrast to the night after their previous battle. One of their number had been lost, this time. And Alistair's broken arm had not been the only injury. All five of them suffered varying degrees of pain from the lightning burns on Melisende's arms, the discoloration around Godefroi's eyes below the swollen bred ump on his forehead, the wound on Guide's thigh , and Piers' bruised side and awkward movement.

Guides and Geoffroi exchanged stories about Raimond, while Alistair and Piers remained respectfully silent. Melisende sat at the end of the table and stared into the fireplace. After a time, she took an arrow from her pack, saying that it was one he had given her years ago. She lit it in the fire and watched it burn. They had been forced to leave his body and belongings behind, so it was all they had for a symbolic pyre. Then she stood up and took her leave.

After she had gone, Piers asked Alistair, "What were those things we fought?"

"Demons."

His eyes widened. "But how did you know how to fight them?"

"He's a Templar," said Geoffroi.

He supposed that was a logical deduction, and not so far off. "Not anymore," replied Alistair. True, as far as it went. He had failed to blend in as a common mercenary, but perhaps being recalled as a red-bearded ex-Templar would throw any Wardens off the scent if his colleagues spoke of him.

"I suppose I can understand why a Templar of high rank might wish to disappear under the circumstances. We were lucky you were with us, today."

"Will there be more?" It was the younger man, Piers. Alistair could see he was trying to keep his voice level, but his knuckles were white.

"Maker, I hope not. But I fear there may be. We heard rumors that suggest there have been others...and there's that thing in the sky."

"It's connected, then? I saw you watching it, and was sure you knew something!" Godefroi again.

"I don't know much. But what we faced was a...tear in the veil that separates our world from that of dreams, magic-and demons. And I suspect that it is a larger one."

"What would make such a thing?"

Alistair shook his head. "Powerful magic, blood magic especially, can damage the veil. But I've never heard of anything on this scale. Something...something terrible has happened. All we can do is keep our eyes open for pale green glows and stay far away. When you approach a tear like that, the things on the other side can feel our emotions: pride, fear, hunger, rage...and it draws them into our world. So if we had stayed close by, more would have come. But if we stay away..."

"Then they stay where they belong." said Eudes. "Good enough for me. I don't fancy fighting more of those things."

"We should warn people they need to go around that part of the road north," Alistair pointed out. But it seemed the danger was already known n Montfort. Their server told them the Duc de Montfort had even tried to get the help of the warden outpost of Vieuxmur. "But the Wardens were gone."

 _Gone? Gone where?_ But Alistair did not want to betray any particular interest in Wardens, or do anything that would be remembered here. He said nothing.

"I'm sure I could get Estienne to increase your pay for a return journey. You sure you still want to go back to Ferelden, with that thing in the sky? " Geoffroi leaned forward.

"I have to go back. More than ever." Maker, he _needed_ Aedan. He couldn't face this alone.

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's your life."

Guides shook his head. "Shoulda' known you weren't a career mercenary when you said you had someone waiting for you in Ferelden. It don't pay to make attachments."

They made an early night of it. They were all tired and sore. Even Guides did not suggest heading out in search of a brothel. Tomorrow, they would find healers in Monfort and be rested and ready for a further journey, but for now their only succor was sleep.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Not at Home

The rest of the journey was less eventful, for they were entering the heart of the Orlesian Empire, where Celene was strongest. But even here, rumors of what was happening in outlying areas-the monsters, the Freemen, the ongoing Mage-Templar war-had people on edge. Still, there were no more battles, not even any bandit threats, for which Alistair was grateful. He never liked to enter battle without a shield. Sellswords were expected to provide their own equipment and he would not have enough money to replace it until he received his pay upon their arrival in Val Royeaux.

He would not replace it that day, either. To Estienne's astonishment, they were turned away at the gate of the Grand Marche by guards who explained the market was closed. If Alistair had been more attentive, he would have anticipatted it. When he listened , he could hear the sound of the Lament for Andraste coming down the Holy Hill from the Cathedral, a part of the Chant that was rarely sung. Even after all these years, he still retained some of what he had learned as a Templar, and he knew the Lament was only sung following the death of the Divine.

Just when he thought things couldn't get worse. What a time for the Divine to die, with the Chantry still a shambles following the Mage Revolt and the defection of most of the Templar Order. The Divine Justinia had not held office long. Like most Divines, she had been rather elderly at the time of her election, but even so...this was unfortunate timing.

Since the Grand Marche was near the harbor, after taking leave of the Geoffroi and the other mercenaries, he headed down to the docks to look for passage to Ferelden. He was fortunate enough to find one headed for Amaranthine the next day. He supposed there must be ships headed all over Thedas to bring news of the Divine's death.

His next task was to go up the hill toward the Palais de Montfleurie, where he hoped he would find Leliana. They had spent long enough in Val Royeaux that he still remembered the way. The Palais looked much as it had five years before. He was stopped by a guard at the gate. "State your business, stranger."

"I'm here to see the Comtesse de Fleurie," Alistair explained. The guard looked him up and down and gave him a hard stare. He remembered how he appeared: a common sellsword, a bit ragged from the road, with tendrils of a scraggly red beard peeking out from his helmet. He decided to take the helmet off. "No, really, I am a friend...um, is Leliana here?"

He heard another man's voice from behind the guard, "Is there a problem, Ignace?" Behind him, a richly dressed youth in one of the masks that had become ubiquitous among the Orlesian nobility approached them.

The man turned, "Just some ruffian who claims to know your mother."

"Rogier! Uh, _mon sieur_ Comte-" In his excitement, Alistair forgot his manners. Rogier had been a boy when they had been there before, but surely he would remember him. He would not yet have reached his full height, but Alistair supposed he would be the acting Comte now, and he needed to be treated with respect.

The youth stared at him from behind the expressionless white mask and smoothed back his long curly hair. "Alistair? Is that you?" When Alistair nodded, he signaled to the guard to let him pass. Ignace moved aside but continued to watch him.

"Do not be concerned, Ignace, there is no cause for alarm, though I know not why our old friend looks so bedraggled. He gestured for Alistair to follow him past through the formal garden, past the fountain, up the steps onto the terrace.

"Perhaps you would like to wash up and change before meeting Mother. You must have had a hard journey."

Alistair nodded and waited as Rogier summoned a servant to bring him a washbasin and cloth. Rogier excused himself and left Alistair to clean himself and change into fresher undergarments. A short while later, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to an elven servant who bowed and told him, "Madame Comtesse will see you now, mon sieur. Follow me, please."

Sybille awaited him in her sitting room with two glasses of her estate's specialty, the curious bubbling vin mousseux along with a plate of bread and cheese. She seemed little changed, except that her was predominantly gray now. Then again, he could not see her face behind the mask; she may have changed more than he thought. She motioned for him to sit down opposite her and take a glass.

"Well, this is a surprise visit."

"Thank you for welcoming me into your home again, Madame Comtesse. I was not sure if you would, after..."

"That was Aedan's doing, not yours. I know you were blameless in his betrayal."

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I-was not blameless. I should have challenged him, found out how he learned where Morrigan was. I was a fool."

"You trusted him and felt betrayed, as we did. Yet you went back to him."

"In time. It was...hard to rebuild but...I could not stay away." It hurt to think of his year alone now, in a way it hurt more now that he had lost Aedan once again.

"Did you leave him behind, thinking that I would not allow him into my house again? Perhaps I wouldn't have, but I never told Rogier the full account of why we left Val Royeaux, how we were ruined."

Alistair blinked, looking around at the wealth that surrounded him.

"No, we did not lose our estates. But it took years to rebuild my position back...and I have gambled everything on Cybele remaining on the throne."

He jerked back in surprise. "You have? After what she did?"

A wave of the hand. "There was nothing personal in that. And if Gaspard becomes Emperor, we will have war again, war with Nevarra, maybe even war with Ferelden. I lost a husband to the Nevarran wars, I would not lose a son."

She looked down and took a long sip from her glass of wine., then looked up again "But all that is in the past. Still, you have not said where Aedan is?"

He winced. "I don't know where he is. He just-disappeared. I came to find Leliana, to ask her to help me find him."

She took a piece of bread and spread some soft creamy cheese upon it. "Do you really think she would, after what he did?"

He buried his head in his hands. "I don't know where else to turn. And I think-I think there's more at stake than just Aedan. Somehow his disappearance is connected to all this..chaos. But she's not here?"

Sybille shook her head. "The Divine Justinia asked her to become her left hand when she ascended. How could she refuse?"

"So she's at the Great Cathedral." He took a swallow of wine. "I guess the timing is terrible, with her dying. But I really need to back to Ferelden, and I booked passage tomorrow. Do you think-do you think you could get me in to see her tonight, in spite of...

She rubbed her forehead. "You really are not up on what's been happening, are you?"

"I've been on the road for weeks."

"She's not in Val Royeaux. She was with the Divine, at the conclave in Ferelden. They were hoping to broker a peace between the mages, the Templars and the Chantry."

He recalled hearing something about this. "The Divine died in Ferelden?" His head turned involuntarily toward the northwest, toward the gaping wound in the sky, as if he could see it through the walls. "Oh, no...was her death connected to that thing in the sky?"

"I think so. The news only came yesterday and there are conflicting accounts. But there was some sort of attack on the conclave-the mages and Templars blame each other, of course-and the Divine and many others died. But that glow did appear at around the same time.."

And over Ferelden."You said many others died...?"

She held up her hand, forestalling his question. "I don't know if Leliana survived. So-we both don't know the fates of someone we love." She was silent for a moment. "Well...you're going to Ferelden tomorrow. Perhaps you may find her there, though she...if she still lives...will have many pressing concerns. I doubt she will have much time to look for Aedan."

"Too many things are falling apart at the same time. There must be some connection...I just can't see it."

She shrugged. "Well, since you're here until tomorrow and you will not find Leliana in Val Royeaux, would you stay for dinner? I'm sure Rogier would like it. It won't be anything fancy, just a simple family dinner.

He knew from experience that a simple family dinner at Sybille's would pass for a feast at the Ferelden court. It had been a long time since he had eaten well, and he would not refuse the offer. Besides, if he wished to find connections between Aedan's disappearance, the Warden's terrible plan, the civil war, the Divine's death, he needed to learn more about what was going on. Sybille had been right. Events were moving faster than him; he needed to catch up.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: An Alternate Exit

Sitting down to dinner with Sybille and Rogier proved both familiar and strange. They had done this every night for several weeks five years ago, and on the surface little had changed but the age of the diners. The same tapestries hung on the walls, the same delicate porcelain dishes and silver and gilt place utensils were used, and the food-for all that Sybille had promised a simple family dinner-was as fine as ever. This time it was tender and savory duck-"confit" Sybilled had called it, with sourdough bread to mop up the juice, and white asparagus in butter.

It was tempting to think that no time had passed, that only a few weeks ago Aedan had sat in this room and told them about how his first lover had taught him to fight, his memories of Ostagar, Lothering and the Circle Tower. But there the familiarity ended, for the absence of both Aedan and Leliana were keenly felt, as if they sat as spectral presences in empty seats at the table.

And there was an undercurrent of tension between Rogier and Sybille that was unfamiliar. He had been a child then, now he was almost a man, though he suspected they disagreed on how close he was. Rogier had made a point of asking how old Aedan had been at Ostagar, knowing full well that he had been only a few years older than Rogier himself. When they talked of how the war between Gaspard and Celene had started, and of the peace talks that were planned at Halamshiral, the difference between their attitudes was unmistakable. Sybille was desperate for the talks to succeed, but he wondered if Rogier hoped they failed, wanted an opportunity to prove himself on the battlefield. Either that or he thought the talks doomed and pointless.

But while the conversation left him far better informed about Orlesian politics, he still could not see a link between it and the mage-Templar war, the apparent murder of the Divine, Aedan's disappearance, and Erimond's plan for the Wardens...other than that all seemed calculated to increase tension and chaos.

Then the conversation turned away from politics to the personal. "It's a shame you came all the way to Val Royeaux to look for Leliana while she had gone to Ferelden," she remarked.

"I haven't been in Ferelden for several months. If I had, I suppose I would have known about the conclave but...I went to Weisshaupt."

"You want to seek help to find Aedan there?"

"Uh...sort of."

Rogier's eyes widened and he gave a knowing nod, as if something that had confused him now made sense. "So the Wardens knew you were looking for Leliana. That's why they looked for you here."

"What? They looked for me here? When?"

"A couple of men were asking about you at the gate two days ago. They were Wardens-or said they were."

"Why didn't you mention this to me?" asked Sybille.

He shrugged. "It didn't seem important at the time. I mean, as far as I know, we hadn't heard from Alistair in five years and had no reason to expect him."

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth, of course. That I hadn't seen or heard from you in years."

"I suppose they told you where to find them if you did hear from me?"

"Yes, but...it was a tavern down by Port Royeaux. I can't remember which one. Like I said, it didn't occur to me that it would matter. Maybe one of the men at the gate would remember...?"

"So you weren't the only one who was there?" Alistair asked.

"Of course not . It was at the gate."

At the gate. Just as it had been when Alistair had asked for Sybille and Leliana. _And Rogier had said his name_.

"This can wait until after we've finished our meal, surely?" put in Sybille. "You don't have to meet them right now."

"I don't plan to meet them, at all, if I can avoid it." Alistair took a deep breath as they stared at him. "The Wardens have lost their way. Do you think they'll be watching the gate?" He frowned.

Sybille sighed. "I can have scouts check, but I fear that your arrival will not have been kept secret. Orlais is full of spies, as you recall, and we did not know there was a need for secrecy."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "I hoped they had lost the trail. I came to Val Royeaux as a guard of a merchant caravan. But I suppose they knew I would be headed for Ferelden, to find people I can trust. There are only so many ways to get there...and the Wardens here would remember that we stayed here last time."

"So that explain your common equipment and that beard." She shook her head. "I was thinking that longer hair might well work for you once it grows out a bit more, but that beard needed trimming or at least shaping. I suppose I should have known you weren't trying a fashionable new look." She chuckled.

Rogier motioned for the servant refilling their glasses of wine to come over and whispered something to him. After he had left, he said, "The scouts will check to see if the gate is watched."

"That's all we can do for now. We might as well enjoy our dinner while we wait and find out the situation."

After dinner, Sybille told him to relax and wait in the sitting room for news. Alistair waited, but he did not relax. He paced. She and Rogier returned a short while later but the news was not good. "There are at least four men waiting in nearby alleys and rooftops," she said.

"Only four?" said Rogier. "We can spare a few of the household guard to accompany-"

He noticed that Rogier was quick to assert himself, to offer a solution without consulting his Mother. "No." Alistair shook his head. "If these are four Grey Wardens, that would put them at significant risk. And I do not have a shield and my equipment is of inferior quality. Is there any other way I can leave this place and avoid them?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied.

"Well...maybe there is." Rogier turned to his mother. "It would not be pleasant but...if we get the servants to move the kegs in the cellar and unbolt the trap door below them, there is an entrance to the sewer.

 _The sewer._ Alistair remembered the secret room that Leliana had arranged for them to meet with Enrique last time they were in Val Royeaux. The one that Aedan had told the Empress about, enabling the attack on _Le Cheval Blanc_ , and sundering Leliana and Aedan's friendship forever. The sewers were an ancient subterranean network that went back to the old Imperium. "How would I-would I not become lost?"

"You wish to go to a ship, in the morning, yes? Then it should not be complicated. Just follow the direction of flow and you'll eventually wind up in the harbor, though it might involve some...ahem...swimming."

No, this would not be pleasant. "I'm a fairly strong swimmer but even so, with all my gear..."

"Don't worry about it," said the younger man. "We'll have your equipment and extra clothes sent down to your ship. The men are watching for you. I'm sure they won't pay any attention to deliveries going in and out of the Palais as there's nothing remarkable about that.


	18. Chapter 17: Almost Home

Though it was far from the most pleasant way to approach the Port Royeaux, it did allow him to reach his ship unseen by the watchers outside the Palais de Montfleurie. As promised, his armor and gear were brought to him, and he was soon off across the Waking Sea.

Unfortunately, he had not had an opportunity to search for the herb that suppressed his seasickness, and he soon remembered why he used to dread traveling by sea. Though it was not stormy, his stomach was weak and he was unable to hold much food down. It's only a few days, he kept telling himself. I will make it through this.

He would have welcomed the dream-suppressing side effect of the seasickness herb, as well. Though none of the dreams had featured Aedan recently, and they had gone back to being frightening, their frequency was rising. Several times he had cried out in the night as he had traveled with the mercenary company. He wondered that no one had asked him about them, but mercenaries were an incurious lot, and maybe it was not so unusual for a sellsword to have bad dreams. No doubt many of them had dark events in their past.

Worse, he was beginning to hear a sound every so often during the day. It was not a song, as other Wardens had described it...more like a high pitched steady tone that gave him a headache. It was less noticeable if he kept busy, but on the ship he had little to do.

It was with relief that he walked once again on dry land in the port of Amaranthine. He considered visiting an armorer to obtain a shield, but decided against it. The less time he spent in Amaranthine, the less opportunity for spies to recognize him. Amaranthine would surely be watched-where else would he headed but back to his home stronghold- but he doubted the Wardens would move against him in town. They would wait until he had left the city and try to ambush him on his way to Vigil's Keep.

With that in mind, he did not follow the road, where men on horseback would easily overtake him, instead heading into the dense pine forest that covered the hills west of the road. He was unsurprised to see three riders leave the road and trail him cross-country. But the horses would be slowed down more than him by the trees and the rugged terrain, and he knew the woods far better than any foreign Warden. He would lose them in the woods.

Alistair toyed with the idea of trying to lay a trap, but even with the advantage of surprise, he felt it too risky to take on three wardens with no shield and inferior equipment. Besides, he did not want to fight his brothers, if it could be avoided.

He continued to forge onward through the woods well into twilight, to minimize the chance of being caught in the night or early morning. He pulled down his camp at dawn the following morning with no sign of his pursuers. As he made his way along the twisting forest trails, he contemplated how he would enter his home.

While the ruse of passing for a mercenary on the way to Val Royeaux had served to keep him from attracting attention, it had slowed him down. Weisshaupt would have sent men by sea, likely arriving several weeks before him. They would be waiting.

Still, he had confidence in the Ferelden Wardens. Regardless of what they had been told, he felt sure he could trust in their personal loyalty, that they would at least give him a fair hearing. But he had to be sure he found Wardens he knew and trusted before he encountered anyone sent by Weisshaupt. He was not certain how he would accomplish this, however, as stealth was not his forte, as Aedan had pointed out when he had asked to accompany him on a mission for Celene.

Alistair decided his best chance was to try and reach Crow's Hill before sundown the following day. From there, he would be able to survey the plain around Vigil's Keep and make a plan. Eschewing the winding approach he had taken the day before, when his purpose had been to lose his trackers in the forest, he moved toward Crow's Hill as directly as possible, though it took him up steep hills and through hedges of nettles.

Despite his best efforts, the sun was setting by the time he reached the viewpoint. This was not ideal, as the long shadows cast by the keep's walls made it hard to discern who might be waiting on the eastern side of the keep. But as his eyes searched the landscape below him, they widened in surprise when they reached the fortress itself.

The flag flying from the towers was not the Gryphon standard, but the Cousland family banner. What could it mean?


	19. Chapter 18: An Angry Teyrn

Alistair stared at the Cousland family banner. Why would the Keep not be flying the Warden standard? Even if Meghann had somehow discerned that Weisshaupt was not to be trusted, she would surely not dare to renounce the Order on her own. Hope surged in his heart. Could it be Aedan's doing?

The only thing that he could think of was that Aedan had somehow escaped from whatever force had captured him, and knew that the Order had been corrupted. It seemed naively hopeful to think such a thing, but no other explanation occurred to him. He stared at the keep. Was his love waiting for him? If only he could make the keep tonight! But he was already tired from a long day of hiking across hilly country. He went down into a ravine to make camp, for he knew there might be trackers behind him, and he could not make a campfire on the hilltop.

Like many other nights in recent months, he did not sleep well. But for once his insomnia was due to hope and excitement, not anxiety. Even so, by morning he began to wonder if he was indulging in wishful thinking. Could the Wardens be setting some sort of trap for him? It seemed unlikely, as they would need the cooperation of the Ferelden's Wardens. Slightly more plausible was the troubling thought that Queen Anora might have stripped the Wardens of the keep. He could think of no reason for her to do so, but he had been out of the country for months. Could she have learned somehow that the Wardens had been corrupted? If so, he would not receive a warm welcome.

Though the thought that Aedan might be waiting for him made his heart long to rush to Vigil's Keep, he resolved to approached Vigil's Keep carefully, just in case. And so, he moved cross-country, trying to stay out of the line of sight of the gate, moving from one bush or tree to the next. He hoped to spot someone that he trusted either at the gate or patrolling on the walls above, but he recognized no one. Where did these men come from?

He moved closer to the gate, trying to get a better look at their insignia. But as Aedan had once told him, stealth was not his forte, and he was caught.

"You there, skulking about in those bushes! Identify yourself!" called a man from the wall.

There was no point in trying to run away. They would send horsemen after him if the archers didn't fell him. He took a deep breath and stepped into clear view. "I am...uh...Alan. A Grey Warden."

 _Well, that made an impression, at least._ There was a quick and lively conference at the gate but Alistair couldn't make out what was said. Then, the gate captain gestured for him to come forward. "The Teyrn will want to speak with you, " he said as two of his men grabbed him by the elbows and ushered him into the gate.

 _The Teyrn? Fergus was here?_

Before entering the keep, they took his sword from him. He did not like to be parted from his weapon, but he was no longer worried. Fergus was like a brother to him, though he wondered why he was at Vigil's Keep. The men dragged him into the main hall, where Fergus Cousland was conferring with some men.

"Sorry to trouble you, Your Grace," began the Gate Captain, "But a man claiming to be a Grey Warden was spying on us, and I thought you would wish to question him."

"Damn right, I want to question him!" growled Fergus, as he strode toward Alistair.

"Fergus-" began Alistair, but Fergus paid him no heed.

"I'd like to know why the Wardens abandoned the Keep. You were given this Arling with the understanding that it would be defended. That's why you are permitted to levy taxes in the Queen's name."

Alistair tried again. "Fergus, please. I don't-"

At last, Fergus seemed to see him. Granted, he looked different with the red beard, but still! "Alistair?" He stared at him. "Perfect. I thought I was upbraiding some rank and file man, but it seems we've found one of those responsible. What were you thinking? The land is unstable enough at the best of times, but with the Mage-Templar war, and now this attack on the Conclave in Haven, it's complete chaos. Could you possibly have chosen a more irresponsible time to vanish. It's hard enough to keep order in Highever without having to divert forces over here."

Maker, he was furious. His face was red, the vein in his temple bulging beneath his graying hair. He knew Fergus was more volatile than his brother-sometimes Aedan seemed to Alistair unnaturally calm-but he'd never seen him like this.

Alistair bowed his head and tried to keep calm. This was not his fault. There was no reason for him to be nervous or defensive. "I've been out of the country for several months. I don't know what's been happening." He took a deep breath. "I don't know where the Ferelden Wardens are. I didn't know...when I saw the Cousland banner flying over the Keep, I wondered what was going on. You've taken control of the Arling?"

"For the time being. But I don't have the men to deal with this, and it's too far from Highever. I will have to find a suitable vassal that Anora will accept. One who will fulfill his obligations, unlike my brother."

"You-haven't heard anything from Aedan?" P _lease let him say Aedan told him he was taking the Wardens away._ He didn't care why. He just wanted to hear that Aedan was safe.

"No, I haven't heard from Aedan in months," he snapped. "The first I heard of this was when I was contacted by the Captain of the Guard at Amaranthine."

Alistair closed his eyes. _So Aedan was still missing._ He wished this was a private audience. He could cry in front of Fergus, but he didn't want to cry in this hall. "When?"

"The message must have gone out more than a fortnight ago. I came as soon as I could, but I've only been here a few days. You know Aedan better than anyone. Why would he get up and leave?"

"Fergus...I doubt Aedan had anything to do with this. He disappeared the day before I left Ferelden. I don't know where he is. I am afraid..." He dared not even voice his fears for Aedan. He closed his eyes again and lowered his head, but this time he failed to keep control. A tear escaped, rolling down his cheek into his beard.

Seeing his distress, Fergus cleared his throat and spoke to his guards. "You don't need to restrain this man. I know him well, and I will be in no danger from him. We will continue this discussion in the office."

They walked together to Aedan's office on the second floor. Noting the new door, Alistair commented, "You must have worked hard to get in here." Aedan's office had been well secured, a heavy stone door hinged on the inside and strong deadbolt locks.

Fergus grimaced. "It took a lot of effort, but I was hoping to find some explanation for why the Wardens had abandoned the Keep. But we searched the room and found...nothing of great import."

Alistair nodded. "Are you _sure_ you searched everywhere? There are secrets."

"I brought in some people with very...special skills from Amaranthine to help me look."

 _Thieves, he must mean._ "Even so..."Alistair went to the large oak desk on one side of the room and touched the eye of the Gryphon bas-relief on the wall above it, pressing three times hard. There was a creaking sound. "I bet they didn't find this."

Fergus' eyes widened as Alistair pulled out the lower drawer from the desk, revealing the compartment that had opened up in the wall behind it. It contained several rolled up scrolls as well as a number of rubies and emeralds that could be used as emergency funds in time of need.

This was where Aedan had kept their most secret documents. Only Alistair himself, Aedan and-after he had left her in charge of the keep-Meghann had known how to access it. The two newest documents, which he had never seen, were on top.

The first was a summary Meghann had written of their search for Aedan. Alistair scanned it, praying for good news, but there was not very much that was new. They had been able to trace a boat that had been seen on the river the day of Aedan's disappearance. It had been hired by a merchant from Tevinter. While this confirmed his suspicion that there was a connection between Tevinter-and Livius Erimond's plan for the Wardens-and Aedan's disappearance, but brought him no closer to finding him.

The second was a letter from First Warden Clarel, ordering all Grey Wardens to report to Adamant Fortress in the Western Approaches of Orlais immediately. He showed it to Fergus.

"I've never heard of Adamant Fortress."

"It hasn't been used for centuries. I don't know why Clarel is summoning them all there." Though he had an awful suspicion. She could hardly raise an army of demons in the middle of the Anderfels. The desolate wastes of the Western Approaches were far more conducive to that.

"But you signed this letter," Fergus pointed out his name. The Warden Commanders of the various nations of Thedas had affixed their signatures and seals and his own name was among them, though the seal of Ferelden was absent, like Aedan.

Alistair shook his head and sighed. "Forgery. I don't suppose Meghann has seen my signature often enough to recognize it."

"What? You're saying the Warden Command in Weisshaupt forged your signature? What's going on?"

"It's a long story." He frowned as he considered what he could and couldn't tell Fergus.


	20. Chapter 19 A Mysterious Caller

After dinner, Alistair and Fergus retired to the common room for the senior Wardens on the third floor of the Keep. The Wardens had taken little with them when they left, a fact Aedan appreciated as he was able to raid the armory for equipment. It was standard issue Warden equipment, but silverite was a significant upgrade from what he had. He would see Wade the next morning about adjusting the plate mail for a better fit.

It seemed that he might as well spend a few days at the Keep. The Wardens surely expected him to go there, but he was likely safe for the time being. And he had no idea what to do next. He had gambled that he would at least have the Ferelden Wardens on his side, but they were gone.

"I'm surprised that you left Ferelden with Aedan missing. I wish you had contacted me. Maybe I could have helped find him."

Alistair winced. "Maker, I wish I had never left. But I'm no tracker. I didn't feel that I could add anything to a search that the scouts and mages we had here could not. And I thought-" he took a deep breath. "I thought that the timing of his disappearance was not an accident. That it was connected to the Wardens demanding the presence of all the Warden commanders in Weisshaupt."

"What? You thought the Wardens _kidnapped_ Aedan? I _know_ you said they are in a crisis as profound as the Chantry's, but wouldn't they seek his leadership in such a crisis?"

Alistair shook his head. "Aedan's relationship with Weisshaupt has always been prickly. They would probably have replaced him with a more pliable Warden Commander if they could. And...there were other reasons." He still retained enough loyalty to the Order, if not its leadership, that he had not talked about the Calling or about Morrigan's daughter, who was the real reason the Warden leadership did not trust Aedan.

"Well, you know that wherever he is, he will move mountains to come home to you if he must."

"I know, but what if..." he trailed off, not even wanting to voice his fear.

"It's hard to believe that he's...missing. I mean, on the one hand he is my little brother, but after the Blight, he seemed like this invincible legend. It's almost like there's two of him in my mind. How are you holding up, Alistair?"

He shook his head in misery. "I don't know what to do. I came back to Ferelden hoping to save at least the Ferelden Wardens from the Order's...mistake. But they've been pulled into this catastrophe with the rest. And I feel like it's all-Aedan's disappearance, the troubles of the Wardens, the Mage-Templar war, the attack on the Conclave and that thing in the sky-all of it is part of some grand scheme. There seems to be a Tevinter connection, but what they're aiming at...I just don't know. At least during the Blight, I knew what I was fighting. And I had Aedan and other friends at my side. But now..." He buried his head in his hands.

Fergus rose from his chair and patted Alistair on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have been so hard on you when you came in, if I had known what you were dealing with."

 _You still don't know all of it._ "It's alright. I know it can't be easy for you either, with everything that's happened."

He nodded. "After the Mage-Templar war, I thought things couldn't get worse. But then there was the attack on the Conclave, and these demon attacks, and the news that the Wardens had abandoned Vigil's Keep. It didn't help my mood that I was being pestered by people looking for you and Aedan while blaming you both for adding to my problems."

"People were looking for us?"

"The Chantry was trying to contact Aedan."

"The Chantry? What does that even mean, now?"

"The Left and Right hand of Justinia survived the attack on the conclave, it seems, and are trying to regroup. And there's some woman on the scene that people are calling 'The Herald of Andraste'."

"The what?"

"Supposedly this woman was saved by Andraste herself during the attack on the Conclave." He shrugged. "And Justinia's people seem to think she is the key to closing the breach in the Veil, somehow. But some other people think she killed the Divine. Anyway, they've been gathering people at Haven and trying to reestablish order in the surrounding area. And they want my support, and Aedan's help."

 _The left hand survived-that's Leliana! And she must be willing to let go of the past if she sought Aedan._ "Perhaps I should seek out Haven, then. But you said people were looking for me, too? Wardens?"

"I don't think so. A man arrived here a few days ago. Said he was an old friend from Lothering called Iain."

"Lothering?" He couldn't imagine who it could be. Iain was a common name in Ferelden. He supposed they had helped a few people in Lothering before moving on, but the town had been destroyed. He wouldn't have expected to be remembered fondly by many there.

"So he said. He said to tell you he was staying at the Crown and Lion Inn in Amaranthine, if I heard from you."

"What did he look like?"

"About your age. Tall, slim. Shaved head, clean shaven, but dark stubble. Blue eyes. Handsome enough. Lightly armored, but good quality gear."

"I don't remember him." _It could be a trap_. Alistair frowned. "It seems too risky. Send a message to the inn that he can meet me at the taproom here at the Keep." That would give him a day or two to mull over circumstances. His best hope seemed to lie with Leliana in Haven, but he would wait long enough to find out about this man from Lothering. With the Ferelden Wardens gone, he needed as many allies as he could find..


	21. Chapter Twenty: Old Friends

At Fergus insistence, Alistair slept in the Commander's room where he had spent so many nights with Aedan. Though he supposed it was fitting, as he would be Acting Commander in Aedan's absence if there was anyone left to command, he wished he had not. He rarely looked around for Aedan upon awakening now, but in this familiar bed Aedan's absence was more painful than ever.

Alistair had hoped to see Bryce and Eleanor, but Fergus had left Aelys and the children in Highever. With a pang, Alistair wondered if he would see them again. If they couldn't find some solution to the Calling...but there was no point in thinking about it. He would resist as long as he could. The only thing he could do was focus on what he needed to do, and pray he was strong enough to stay alive as long as it took to find Aedan and stop the Wardens from summoning a demon army.

While he awaited his mysterious visitor from Lothering he went to see Wade's shop to get the suit of mail he had chosen fitted. It took a great deal of effort-and intervention by the smith's lover Herren-to persuade Wade to make some quick adjustments to the mail. He knew Wade could make him far better armor and longed to show he was capable of a masterwork like the mail he had lost in Weisshaupt. But there was no time for that.

A few days later, he received the message that his visitor had arrived at the taproom. He put his helmet and newly fitted armor on, grabbed his sword and shield and went to the low outbuilding outside the main keep that served as a mess hall and tavern for the Wardens when they were here. While he thought he should be safe, it was best to be prepared to fight.

It was early evening when he walked through the door. The place was quiet. Though Fergus' men had taken over the place, it was not quite the dinner hour yet. A man fitting the description Fergus had given him sat by the door, but Alistair did not recognize him.

The man looked at him, brow furrowed, then said, "Alistair?"

When he heard the voice, and met those bright blue eyes, he knew. "Hawke!" he exclaimed in surprise.

Iain gasped and raised a finger to his lips. His eyes darted around the room, but the bartender's attention was elsewhere, and there was no one else nearby. "I don't use that name. Not anymore." He shook his head.

Alistair had forgotten that Iain Hawke had been from Lothering originally. He supposed that introducing himself even as Iain from Kirkwall could be dangerous. Though the man looked so different without the long, dark hair, full beard and moustache that he remembered that Alistair was doubtful many would connect him with the famously hirsute Champion of Kirkwall.

Hawke gave him a sharp look and drawled. "But you seem a little furtive yourself. I was surprised when you declined to meet me in Amaranthine. I had to weigh the possibility that the Chantry might have laid a trap for me."

"They seek you still?"

"They have not forgotten Kirkwall. One of my friends has been their prisoner for some time." He sighed. "Maker Damn Meredith and Anders both to the Black City for eternity for the way they trapped me!" Though the words were said forcefully, he kept his voice low.

Alistair had not seen Hawke since the mage's revolt in Kirkwall. "So the revolt was not your idea?" he asked softly. There were many who sympathized with the mage's side, especially in Ferelden, where freedom had always been highly valued. As befitted the land of Andraste's birth.

"Maker, no!" He shook his head. "I just refused to help Meredith slaughter a bunch of innocent mage's for Anders' crime. And she was maddened enough by red lyrium to turn on me. I won't deny I was unhappy with the way the Circle in Kirkwall was run-my sister was one of the mages there, after all-but I never meant to start a war. Things just got out of control...I sometimes wonder if I had just gone along with Meredith if I could have continued to live a normal life. But," he sighed, "I don't think I could have lived with the guilt. Because then I wouldn't have known that I had stopped all this...chaos. Eh...who knows, it might have happened anyway. Kirkwall was not a stable situation."

Conversation stopped for a moment as the bartender came to the table with a flagon of ale and two cups. Then Iain leaned back in his chair, and tilted his head to one side. "So it's no secret why I am a fugitive. At least I have money; running from the Chantry has proved less uncomfortable than running from the Blight. But I am curious what you are hiding from, my friend?

"What makes you think I'm hiding?"

A quick smile and a slight widening of the eyes. "You're not wearing your usual gear, for one. And though it looks serviceable enough, it's distinctly lower quality than your normal kit...though much less distinctive as well. And that beard!" He tapped his fingertips on the table, leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand. "Also, well, I have been in Amaranthine for a few days now and encountered a pair of foreigners seeking Alis-terre of Ferelden. Good, good friends of yours, they assured me."

Alistair frowned, though he was not surprised. He sighed. "It's a long story." He looked around the room. As dusk arrived, a few more of Fergus' men had started to arrive in the taproom. "And one I'd rather not talk about in public. We might as well eat here and talk of less...sensitive things. I will tell you everything, but not here." Maker knew he needed to talk to someone about it, and Hawke already knew about the Calling.

And so they ate and talked, mostly about Iain's travels since leaving Kirkwall. He had become a sort of wandering freelance hero-a fixer, as he put it-traveling about, defusing situations too delicate or too dangerous for city guards. He was a natural storyteller. Alistair envied the way his sense of humor leavened the description of the dark situations he found himself in.

But behind the wry commentary and jokes, Alistair suspected hidden sorrow. Hawke always moved on before his reputation grew too much in any one area, constantly changing his name, his appearance. Friends and lovers-both male and female-drifted in and out of his stories, disappearing behind him as he moved onward through Nevarra and Ferelden, the Free Marches and Antiva. The close-knit group Alistair had met in Kirkwall had been sundered by the Mage revolt and it seemed Varric was the only one with whom he still kept contact. And Varric had paid for that contact with imprisonment by the Chantry.

Alistair tried to share a few of his own adventures with Aedan over the years since they had last met. But it was hard to keep his composure when speaking of Aedan now, and he had stopped. Still, it made him realize that as alone as he felt now, for years he had shared his life with someone. Iain had been alone for years.

As they were getting up to leave, they heard shouting outside. Alistair put his hand on his sword hilt, ready for trouble. He and Hawke exchanged wary glances before stepping out the door.

A crowd of Fergus' soldiers and many of the inhabitants of the keep were outside, staring up at the sky to the southwest. A brilliant green bolt extended from the horizon to the tear in the veil; it was as bright as the noonday sun, though the colors were sickly. Then there was a deafening clap of thunder and the breach in the sky faded, though there was still a swirling of angry pale green clouds surrounding it.


	22. Chapter 21 Catching Up

Alistair stared up at the sky while the surrounding crowd shouted and gestured. As alarming as its appearance had been, the wound in the Veil was a familiar feature now. Change was frightening. But maybe it was a good thing? It looked like the Breach was disappearing. _Justinia's people seem to think she is the key to closing the breach in the Veil, somehow._

He grabbed Hawke's arm. "Iain...do you think the Chantry succeeded? That they've healed the Veil?"

He shrugged. "You're the Templar, and know more of such things than me. It's certainly changed."

"More of such things? Oh, of course, I usually repair two tears in the Veil by mid-day. All I know is something happened that shredded the boundary between us and the Fade like nothing I've ever heard of. Almost everything else is just rumor." They moved through the gate into the inner keep and Alistair led Hawke up the stairs to the Commander's Chamber.

"But you've been traveling. You've been a lucky man if you haven't encountered any demons on the road."

"I said almost everything. And I don't understand the connection between the small tears and the big one-I've never heard of anything like that before." Alistair opened the door and lit the torch in the nearest holder. Hawke entered and sprawled in the armchair by the fireplace. That's my chair, Alistair thought indignantly, but took Aedan's seat by the desk instead. It felt so strange it to sit in Aedan's place.

Hawke raised his hands, palms up and sighed. "But just supposing the remnant of the Chantry did close it. Does that mean this Herald of Andraste thing is real?"

For Alistair, it bore an echo of his last trip to Haven. He shuddered recalling the Disciples of Andraste, and their mad belief that the dragon on the mountain was the Bride of the Maker reborn. "Haven's a strange place. The old temple there was a place of power. It wasn't just the Urn."

Iain raised an eyebrow at mention of the Urn but said nothing. Many people didn't believe they had found it. He did not feel like discussing it right now, instead remarking. "Still, I'd like to meet this woman. With so much going on...which reminds me, you haven't said why you were looking for me."

"Can't an old friend drop in to say hello?"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "It's been years."

"I know. I am sorry, but...no it isn't just a social call. Some friends of Varric informed me that someone was trying to buy red lyrium. Maker knows why anyone would seek that poison out! And I was hoping you might be willing to help me investigate. I thought...after Corypheus...you might think you owed me a favor."

"Maker...normally I wouldn't hesitate, but there's so much else going on. And I don't know anything about red lyrium. When you were talking about Meredith, I thought you must have said raw lyrium. I spent years being trained as a Templar and I never heard of lyrium being any color but blue. What's red lyrium?"

Hawke chuckled. "When something shapes your life, like red lyrium has shaped mine, one forgets that everybody doesn't know about it. I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. Some years ago, I went into the Deep Roads with some of my friends."

"Why?"

"A treasure hunting expedition, really."

 _You went into the Deep Roads in search of gold?_ Alistair stared at him, but said nothing.

Still, Hawke noticed his reaction and shrugged. "At the time reclaiming the family title in Kirkwall seemed important and I needed money A lot of it.. Funny the way one's priorities change...we found this idol made of red lyrium in an abandoned Thaig. And when we found it Bartrand-Varric's brother-went mad with greed...or maybe the thing acted on his mind immediately. Either way, he took the idol and trapped the rest of us. We were lucky to find another way out. Then, Bartrand disappeared for a while. He came back to Kirkwall three years later and if he wasn't mad the moment he grabbed the idol, he was certainly mad then." Iain shook his head. "Though he had sold the idol, he had kept a shard of it, and it had worked on him, and worked on the fade in his estate."

"Worked on the fade? What do you mean?"

"It seems that red lyrium somehow damages the veil in its vicinity. But poor mad Bartrand isn't the main figure in this story. I don't know how Knight Commander Meredith came upon the idol, but she did, and had it melted down and forged into a sword. And it preyed upon her mind. She had always been harsh in her treatment of the mages, but the influence of the lyrium drove her over the edge." He sighed. "With that sword, she had strange powers...it called up demonic spirits that animated statues in the Circle. When I shattered her sword she...turned into a red lyrium statue herself. So when I heard that someone was seeking red lyrium...well, I was alarmed, and so I decided to come back to Ferelden and seek you out."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "But so much happened on the way here. That breach in the sky, and the demons. And I've been hearing reports of red crystals spontaneously growing out of the ground...and I fear it's more red lyrium. But when I got here, you were gone, all the Wardens were gone. Since I was in Ferelden anyway, I decided I might as well tarry a while in Amaranthine and hope that Aedan would get in touch with his brother. It's a little strange, you know. When I was in Kirkwall, I got tired of everyone seeking me out to clean up their messes. I was really quite irritated by the lot of them. But when all the Wardens went off to save the world without me, I felt a little miffed.

Alistair shook his head. "They haven't gone off to save the world. I wish they had. Ugh...maybe they think they are, but what they're doing is crazy."

"So you have-split-with the Wardens? With Aedan?"

"No, Aedan...isn't with them. I've...lost him." He stared at the floor.

"Have you checked where you left him last? The closets? Under the bed?" Seeing that Alistair wasn't amused, he stopped. "I'm sorry. I was rather hoping to meet him, curious what sort of man holds you in such thrall. Is he...you said lost, not gone...?"

"I pray he's not gone, but I don't know." He tilted his head back, took a deep breath. "I guess I better start at the beginning." He recounted how the Calling had changed, Aedan's disappearance and his trip to Weisshaupt.

Hawke was attentive but silent through most of the story. But when Alistair reached the Council and described Master Erimond's plan, he erupted in a shower of expletives before asking rhetorically, "What is it with mages that they see blood magic is the solution to every problem?"

Alistair sighed. "Not all mages and...well, blood magic isn't forbidden to Wardens. And I think Clerel is sincerely acting out of fear of what will happen to Thedas if the Order vanishes."

"You're defending her?"

"Of course not. But...I don't think you understand how desperate the Wardens feel." You don't feel it, as I do. "And I think there's something else going on. Something pushing them. Something like...you remember how the Wardens behaved under the thrall of Corypheus?"

Iain sputtered. "Like I would forget that?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong. But Adelheid thought there was something off, too. And Aedan disappearing the day before the summons to Weisshaupt arrived, and a Tevinter boat being in the area...that can't be a coincidence. Someone wanted him off the board, thought he was a threat to their plans." Unlike me, he thought glumly. "But what's Tevinter's interest in driving the Wardens to this lunatic plan? And is it connected to the breach in the Veil? The Mage/Templar war? The Orlesian Civil War?" So many disasters at once."

"And the Red Lyrium. It thins the veil, aids demons in crossing over to our world, so its appearance after the breach appeared must also be connected. But the Mage/Templar war...I don't think so. I was there at the beginning. In a way, it was my fault. It might never have happened if I hadn't gone into the blasted Deep Roads." He sighed. "And maybe if I'd been a better friend to Anders, he would not have gone so far. Tevinter had no role to play. But the Orlesian civil war? I don't know enough about Orlais to say."

"But if anyone does, it would be Leliana. She knows the Game, and is the Left Hand of the Divine. And she is my friend." Or she was. "And she's said to be in Haven, with this Herald woman. If there's anyone who can help us..."

"Yes, well, also in Haven is Cassandra Penderghast, the right hand of the Divine, who has hunted me these long years. I'm not anxious to deliver myself into the hands of that Nevarran harridan. I am not going to Haven."

Alistair lowered his eyes. He supposed he could not ask his friend to walk into prison cell for him. But he had hoped for someone to share his burdens.

Hawke leaned back, rubbing his chin. "But my contacts with Varric should be able to tell us more about the situation in Haven. I don't mind accompanying you partway there."

"I thought you said Varric was a prisoner." He stared at him.

"Well...you've met Varric. He has a way of talking his way out of trouble."


	23. Chapter 22: Red Men

"Alistair, what are we doing here? What do you expect me to find?" Hawke stood on the hilltop, rapping his knuckles against his leggings and looked down toward the river.

"I don't know," he confessed. "I just...had to come back in case there was something...missed." Of course, Hawke was right. There would be no clues left. There was no longer any sign of the rage demon Aedan had slain here, let alone of what had transpired thereafter. The tall grass of summer had erased all evidence of that day, moons ago. It was just a grassy hilltop where shepherds grazed their flocks like any other, with nothing to suggest that the end of Alistair's world had begun here.

Alistair and Hawke had set out together two nights after Iain had arrived. They had shared dinner with Fergus and Alistair explained that he was headed for Haven, in hopes that Leliana would be able-and willing-to help search for Aedan. Fergus offered to use his own resources as well, but admitted that he had few agents outside northeastern Ferelden. If, as Alistair suspected, Aedan had been taken far beyond his Teyrn by now, his efforts were likely to prove fruitless. Still, Hawke told him that if he did learn anything of interest, to seek out dwarven traders who recognized the name of Varric, and send messages through them.

Suspecting that the Wardens would continue to follow them, they had not taken the road, instead following trails used by local farmers through the woodlands and hilly pastures. Alistair had insisted on returning here, somehow hoping for Iain's sharp eyes to see something, imagine something that had eluded the Wardens. But Iain had assessed the situation quickly. Instead of seeking clues to Aedan's disappearance, he was using the high vantage point to survey the lands around them for signs of pursuers.

Still, Alistair waited there a while, listening to the wind rustling in the long grass, remembering the night he had spent here. And remembering nights in the field with Aedan, wondering whether he would ever hold him again. "We shouldn't stay here too long. Meghann told us the veil was thin here." He wondered what sort of demon his emotions might lure from the fade if they lingered here; despair perhaps. He gave a long sigh and led Iain down the southern slope of the hill.

The plan was to take minor routes through the coastal hills south to the lowlands beyond. Iain said that there was a village in the hills where he expected to find dwarven traders who would be able to contact Varric. Though Alistair had no doubt Haven was where he had to go, Hawke persuaded him that they should learn as much as they could about the intentions of Leliana and Cassandra Penderghast...and about this mysterious Herald.

They still needed to be concerned about followers, but Hawke judged that they could lose them. "They knew you must be headed for Vigil's Keep," he commented, "But now they cannot know your intent, so it will be more difficult for them to intercept us. Instead, they will try to track us, but there are ways to make that harder." At Iain's insistence, Alistair placed his mailed boots in his pack and wore his Tevinter sandals. They tried to walk on hard bare ground, or in existing footprints, to leave as little trace as possible.

Though he and Aedan had rarely had to worry about being followed, traveling through backcountry Ferelden reminded Alistair of many journeys with his lover, But journeying with Iain was not the same, and not only because they did not share a bedroll.

Traveling with Aedan had been quiet. They could communicate so much through glances and touches that words often seemed superfluous...and Aedan had preferred silence, seeking every advantage over potential adversaries. But while Iain and Aedan had similar combat styles, Hawke seemed unconcerned with surprising enemies. His mouth was in constant motion, telling jokes and stories, commenting on the scenery, the weather, the quality of the ale at Vigil's Keep and the girls in Amaranthine. In a way it was a welcome distraction from the high-pitched, wavering whine that was starting to become a constant in Alistair's ears. But it didn't help with his frequent headaches. He had taken to chewing elfroot to subdue the pain.

Even so, the journey was pleasant. Summer in the hills was mild and the countryside was quiet and beautiful. This had never been a populous part of Ferelden, but neither had it been heavily touched by the blight. The ridges and steep slopes were forested, and even in the valleys, there were only a few small villages. Wild blackberries grew at the edge of the woodlands, which were a welcome change from their salty, dry travel provisions.

It reminded Alistair of the foothills near Redcliffe where he had often followed Teagan on hunts as a boy. And of the hills closer to Amaranthine where he and Aedan had often wandered together in the months after the Blight was over. Those had been difficult times in Ferelden, recovering from the civil war and the Darkspawn, but he and Aedan had relaxed for a while before beginning the task of reviving the Ferelden Warden chapter in earnest.

"What are you smiling at?' asked Iain, drawing Alistair out of those memories. "I haven't seen you smile much lately."

"This land...it reminds me of other times. As a boy...and with Aedan." He sighed.

"I thought you said you didn't know this trail."

"I don't, but...similar places."

"Well, we'll soon reach the village of Mistmorning, which lies near a pass into the lowlands of the Bannorn to the south. And where I hope to find one of Varric's contacts." I think it's just over this ridge..."Ah, here it is. Just as I remembered," he said as they came over the top of the hill.

Though it was still morning, the mists for which the village was named had been burned away by the summer sun. Fog still clung to some of the surrounding hilltops, and the meadows were heavy with dew. It was not an imposing place. There were perhaps two score of houses clustered around a water mill and a chantry in the valley below them. On the hill above the village stood a small keep, where the local Bann lived. In theory, he would be one of Aedan's vassals, but Alistair did not know the man. A Bann from a remote village like this one would rarely have visited the Arling.

Alistair wondered why a dwarven trader would bother with a route through such a remote area. He suspected smuggler would be a more apt description than trader.

"There isn't a proper inn here, but the brewer serves up beer and food. Let's go there and see if I can find word of Varric's friend."

They entered the brewery to find perhaps two dozen patrons drinking ale and awaiting the mid-day meal. All eyes turned toward them as they entered, though with evident curiosity, not hostility. Strangers must not be common here. They sat down at a table, and the brewer's wife brought a flagon of ale and two cups to them, and explained that the meal would be a little while yet.

She came back with a tray of freshly baked buns and hard cheese. "The soup still needs a little time," she explained. As they waited for the soup, Alistair looked around the room. There were no dwarves here, nor did he see anyone who looked like a traveler or a merchant.

Their bowls of thick pea soup were brought out by the brewer. Hawke interrupted him before he could move on to the next table. "Good ser, a moment please. Has a dwarven merchant by the name of Dag been in the village recently?"

The man shook his head. "Nah...we haven't had many travelers at all, on account of the Red Men."

"Red Men? Is that the name of a gang of bandits?"

"They don't seem to be after gold, just mad with bloodlust, from what I've heard. They're really red, like red eyes, red veins, or so the tales go. I ain't seen 'em myself, so if you're interested, you should talk to one of the herders. They've moved their flocks north, closer to the village to stay away, but they'll have heard more, and I got other customers."

Alistair looked at Hawke after he left the table. "What do you suppose that's about? Could there be another of those tears in the veil? They don't sound like any demons, I'm familiar with..."

Iain shrugged. "Not sure, but I think it's worth investigating." He sighed. "It sounds like getting in touch with Varric may be harder than I hoped, though.

After their mid-day meal, they set out southward toward the pass to the Bannorn, their eyes scanning the hills for sheep as they went. It was not long before they spotted a shepherd leading his flock down a nearby hillside toward the creek. They waved their arms to get his attention. He froze in his tracks, his mouth opened in alarm.

Alistair supposed armed men like them would be frightening to a shepherd on the road. He held out his empty hands in a gesture of peace as he approached. "Good ser, we mean you no harm. May we have a word with you?"

The man exhaled but still watched them nervously. "What do you want, m'lords. I am just a shepherd."

"Do you know anything about...'Red Men'?"

The shepherd swallowed. "They-they killed my brother. What do you want with them?"

"I am truly sorry for your loss. Perhaps we might...avenge his death, if you can help us. Have you seen them? Do you know where they are? When did they come?"

He nodded. "About...two fortnights ago, we-my brother and I-were grazing our sheep in the pastures on Buzzard's Hill, south of here, near the pass into the Bannorn. And these men with red eyes and red...veins and blotches in their skin just attacked us. No demands for money, just murderous rage. We ran...but my brother didn't make it."

"These men-they were really men? No...horns or tails or anything?" Hawke asked.

"No...armoted men, like...like him." He pointed at Alistair. Just...just red. And mad."

"How many were there?"

"I saw four. There might be more. There's a cave not far from there they might be using."

"Only four?" Alistair smirked at Hawke. "Did you recognize any of them?"

He shook his head. "They were strangers. But...you really might avenge my brother.? There are only two of you."

"A mere four men are not likely to trouble us. Hardly worth our while," chuckled Iain. "We will deal with them if we encounter them. We need to head south anyway. It sounds like they may try to get in our way."

They returned to the trail. "What do you suppose they are?" asked Alistair.

"I haven't the foggiest of notions. I hope it's not some kind of a plague. They don't mention anyone they know turning red, though. I see that as a hopeful sign."


	24. Chapter 23: A Cave in the Hills

They followed the trail running southward from Mistmorning as it climbed toward the pass into the Bannorn. Though the hills were nowhere near as high as the Frostbacks, the southernmost ridge was steep and crowned by jagged rock spires, like a jawbone with irregular teeth. Ascending the pass was hard, sweaty work with the hot summer sun at their backs.

If they had not been expecting trouble, the sound of their own heavy breathing might have kept them from noticing the sound of a bit of scree sliding down the slope. But alert as they were, they heard it, and instinctively looked upward to see what-or who-had dislodged it. "I think our friends have arrived," remarked Iain.

Two armored men were descending the slope, steel shields and broadswords ready. "Two archers on the crags above. I'll deal with them," announced Iain. He somersaulted out of the way of the two men bearing down on Alistair, then scampered up the slope, evading the arrows raining down on him with backflips and handsprings.

The most striking difference between Hawke's style and Aedan's was that extra flourish of acrobatics. While Aedan could make such maneuvers, he did so sparingly, preferring to conserve energy. His lover's strategy was not to draw attention in combat, often passing between and behind opponents without being noticed, whereas Hawke relied more on blinding speed and agility than cunning.

But there was little time to reflect on combat styles, as Alistair was soon engaged by two opponents. _This shouldn't be too difficult. I just need to fend off the red-bearded one on the left with my shield while attacking the one with the black moustache with my sword._ Alistair had fought two-or more- opponents at once often enough that it did not faze him.

But a few moments into the melee, he realized this would be more difficult than he anticipated. While he blocked redbeard's attack, he was thrown off balance by the force of the blow, almost stumbling into the thrust of the other man. He had to bend his knees below the other man's blade, roll backward and spring back to his feet. _Maker, how can he be so strong? He's not a big man, nowhere near my size_.

Despite the rage in the men's red eyes, their swings were not wild and uncontrolled, and their footwork was crisp. Having tasted the force of the men's blows, Alistair fought more cautiously, retreating, dodging, spinning and deflecting while he assessed the men's combat styles. The more he saw, the more familiar it became. The stances, the feints and ripostes, the way they moved their shields...he knew these moves and countermoves intimately. It was as if he had trained with these men for years. In a way, he had.

But fortunately, he had learned a few tricks since leaving the Templar Order that he hoped they had not seen. Deliberately, he gave both men an opening...this was going to hurt but if he was fast enough...

They took the bait. Redbeard came at him hard with his shield while moustache had a free swing at his shoulder. Alistair spun out of the way of the first man, causing him to bash his compatriot with his shield, knocking him backward. The other man still caught Alistair's left shoulder, and he was strong enough that his blade sliced through the chainlinks.

Gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain, Alistair whirled around and took advantage of the moustached man's stumble, raking the back of his knee with his sword. With the man hobbled, Alistair could concentrate on finishing him off and use his shield to fend off the other man. His left side took a beating from the man's sword but the plates in the armor held, and he had enough left to take both of them down.

Breathing heavily, he scanned the hill above him. Where was Hawke? Alistair knelt behind a tree. If Iain had failed, he would have draw the archers down the hill. But Iain reappeared, his daggers bloody. Blood was seeping out of his left arm, between the fingers of his right hand, and running down his right leg from a wound in his thigh, but none of the wounds appeared serious and he was moving well enough.

He went back to the two men he had felled, to search for clues to what had happened to them, as Hawke approached. "Iain," he murmured, "I am almost certain these men were Templars."

"Templars? You're sure. What do you suppose made them like that?"

He removed the hauberk of the bearded one, finding a chain with a string of vials around his neck. "Absolutely sure." But the liquid in the vials was not blue, but deep ruby red. He took a deep breath, unclasped the chain an held it out to Iain. "I think..."

He gasped.. "Oh, Maker, no! Keep that stuff away from me," he hissed and stepped back. "They were drinking it? What madness in the Black City would drive someone to-"

Alistair sighed. "Well, Templars are...dependent on lyrium. They'll do almost anything to quell the craving if they lose their supply, and now that they've broken from the Chantry. They may be desperate enough to try...substitutes."

He shook his head. "Oh, no! And this may not be an isolated incident, judging by what Varric's contacts heard. But what about you, Alistair? Do you need lyrium?"

"I never took it. Sometimes I've wondered if my skills would be sharper if I did, but...I seem to be passably effective without it. Perhaps my combat experience compensates for my lack of lyrium enhancement. And I'm glad nothing has a hold over me like that." _Nothing except the taint_. He bowed his head, thinking that had he not become a Grey Warden, would he have been driven to this, like these fallen men? "I...pity these men."

"I don't. The fools!" He spat in disgust. "Well, let's bind our wounds. The shepherd mentioned a cave . We should investigate."

"You think there are more?"

"What, you've already had enough battle already? Well, I rather hope not. Let me go ahead and do a little scouting, to get a sense of what we're dealing with." His head jerked away, toward a sound on the slope above. "Andraste's Blood, what is that?"

Alistair followed his gaze upward to see the thing shambling toward them. It was roughly human in size and shape: it had four appendages and walked on two of them and there was a bulge at the top that could be interpreted as a head. But the body and the limbs themselves were irregular, gleaming red masses. It extended a limb and ruby shards flew toward them. Hawke tumbled out of the way while Alistair deflected them with his shield and charged forward.

The thing dispensed two more volleys of crystalline missiles before he could reach it. Some of the crystals embedded themselves in his mail, but did not penetrate it. Iain was not so fortunate: he howled and swore as one of them pierced his left forearm before he could spin out of the way.

Though the fighting styles of Aedan and Iain differed in detail, Alistair's approach to teaming up with both was identical. He would try to keep the thing's attention focused on him, counting on his armor and shield to absorb most of the punishment. He focused on keeping it off balance and try to stun it. He was not sure it had vital organs, but he was encouraged when he struck its "head" with his shield and it paused for a moment, and Hawke was able to slice into its backside with his right-hand dagger. He seemed not to be able to use his left hand effectively due to his wound.

The advantage was only momentary, and when it recovered it spawned a reddish mist around it that seemed to act as a magical barrier, blocking their attacks. These things could be broken down by brute force, but it would take time and patience. His templar skills would enable him to bring it down faster than most, but in the meantime he would have to take the brunt of the creature's attacks, keep its attention focused on him. His right side would be black and blue by the end of this.

The mist finally dissipated, and Hawke carved a deep strike in its back, but pulling his dagger out left him off balance. The thing whirled to face Iain, and struck hard with its claw-like arms, knocking him down. But Alistair struck it from behind with his shield which seemed to stun it. Iain got up on his knees and drove his daggers deep into its mid-section. It gave a groan that sounded almost human and fell.

Iain pulled the crystal shards out of his forearm and cursed. "Help me clean this wound. I fear..." He swallowed and glanced at the red crystals he had extracted, then stared at the red carcass lying on the ground. "That was once a man, you know."

"I know." In silence, he cleaned Iain's wound, applying an elfroot salve. He himself had only bruises and minor abrasions. He was sore and tired, but no more. "We'd better have a look at that cave."

Iain rose to his feet. "I'll do it. If there are more to fight we might be best to return after we have rested. I can avoid being detected."

Alistair was unsure this was wise. "I'll follow behind so I can back you up if you need it, but I'll wait for your signal to advance."

He watched as Hawke reached the opening of the cave, peered in, then turned to Alistair with a beckoning gesture. As Alistair approached, Iain shook his head. "I'm not going in there."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, then looked into the cave. Red crystal stalagmites rose from its floor. "Maybe we can block the entrance, seal it up. It's only chest high and there is a lot of loose rock at the base of the cliffs."


	25. Chapter 24: Bad Dreams

They were weary and sore from battle and the labor of blocking the cave entrance when they made camp that night. Hawke insisted on having the wound where the red shards had struck him cleaned out again.

"Iain, there's no sign of anything wrong," said Alistair as he smeared a fresh elfroot poultice onto the wound. "No redness, no swelling, no fever. I think you're worrying too much."

Hawke shook his head and swallowed. "If you'd seen what I'd seen...how little red lyrium it took to drive a man mad...But I guess this is all we can do." He shook his head and stared into the campfire.

Alistair had never seen Hawke like this. He usually shrugged off wounds with jokes. He decided to change the subject. "So what do we do now? Where can we look for Varric's contacts, since there weren't any in Mistmorning?"

"Well, there's the Bannorn, but it's hard to know where they will go. It's an open plain with many villages, and no dominant market town or major roads. Best bet might be to make for the Spoiled Princess-it lies at a crossroads between Redcliffe and the Imperial highway, but is small enough to be overlooked."

"The Spoiled Princess. At Lake Calenhad Docks?" Alistair asked unnecessarily. There surely could be no other inn by that name. "I was there before, during the Blight."

"Then that will be our destination. We'll see what we can learn about the Herald in the Bannorn on the way, but not spend too much time chasing rumors of dwarven traders in the hopes they're contacts of Varric." He scowled at his wound before re-bandaging it and climbing into his bedroll.

Alistair did the same, but did not have a restful night.

Alistair was walking toward the dock, in the long shadow cast by the Circle Tower as the sun set behind it. The tower lay empty now, no lights in its windows, abandoned by Templars and Mages alike. Aedan was waiting for him at the docks, arms open and smiling.

And when Alistair saw him, he knew with sad certainty that he was dreaming, however lifelike it all seemed. And it wasn't even a dream of memory, for the Circle had still been present when they had visited in the past. There was no solace to be found in a phantom embrace and Alistair stopped approaching. "Where are you, my love? I need to find you." As if this shade of his own mind could answer him.

Aedan extended his arms, his palms facing the darkening sky. "I'm gone. You know I'm gone. What force could keep me away from you? You know I would escape any prison, swim any ocean, tunnel through any mountain range to come home to you, if I were here."

"No, I can't-I won't accept that! I have to find you. I need you. I can't do this without you." _Save the Wardens. Save us from ourselves_ , Adelheid had implored him. How could he hope to do it without Aedan?

He shrugged. "I told you more than once that I was only a man, no matter how much more you imagined me to be. Men die."

"You said yourself you would escape any prison, swim any ocean. Could 'only a man' do that?"

"I should have finished with 'or I would die trying'." The wry smile he knew so well. He shrugged. "Perhaps that is how I died."

"No! I have to be with you. Somehow."

"It's easy to be with me again, my love," he said, climbing into a boat at the end of the dock. It was dark now, and he could no longer see the tower, except by the stars missing from the sky to the west. "Come," he said. "Come with me to the other shore."

Aedan turned toward him, extending his hand to help him into the boat. The tone that had been ringing in his ears during the day started up, its pitch wavering, beginning to change, to become a crude melody. Alistair started toward the boat, his own hand extended, then hesitated, pulled back. And awoke.

He lay in the darkness of the tent, his heart pounding and breathing heavily. When he had lain with Aedan, he had cried out freely after the dreams and been consoled, but traveling with others had made him more circumspect, as he did not like to disturb their sleep.

It sounded like Iain was having a nightmare of his own. Occasionally, Alistair heard panting, a muffled cry in the night, even the pounding of his heart. Though the sounds were similar when Hawke was pleasuring himself, as he sometimes did when he thought Alistair was asleep. But other times...between his own dreams and Aedan, Alistair had learned to recognize nightmares. He wondered if he should awaken him, but decided to let the nightmare run its course. It was not as though he could comfort Iain as he would Aedan. If Alistair were to ask him about his dream, he knew any response he received would be flippant.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised Iain would have nightmares tonight. Hawke seemed to fear red lyrium more than anything else...and after today, Alistair was beginning to understand that terror. But at least Iain only feared he would go mad. Alistair knew he would; it was only a matter of time.


	26. Chapter 25: A Country Brewery

They descended into the Bannorn the following day. The fertile plains of central Ferelden had not fully recovered from the ravages of Blight and civil war before the latest round of conflict. Still, it was pleasant country, flat and easy to traverse.

Hawke remained subdued, though his wound showed no sign of festering. But they made good time following the little tracks that linked farms and village markets across the Bannorn. There were few places large enough to support a real inn, but there were many village taphouses which served as the focus of social life in the region, along with the chantries.

Some were livelier than others. One evening, Alistair and Hawke found themselves approaching a brewery so boisterous they could hear the voices well beyond the palisade that marked the village boundary. As they came nearer, the noise subsided to a murmur and a lute and singer could be heard. Not so unusual in Orlais where jongleurs were everywhere, but far less common in backwater villages in Ferelden.

Hawke's clear blue eyes lit up at the sound, and he smiled in a way he hadn't since they fought the red men. Alistair wondered if the song wafting across the night air reminded him of his childhood. It was a well-known old Ferelden song. "Come, we should join them, Alistair."

Alistair sighed. "Very well." He did not feel festive. He had spent the previous night dreaming of Darkspawn. And his head was throbbing even more than usual from the whining tone in his ears.

They entered the place which was filled with a merry crowd of locals. Heads turned at the sight of the armored strangers but faces seemed welcoming enough.

"Come for a flagon of the best beer in the Bannorn?" asked a young woman with pink cheeks and long brown hair.

Hawke laughed and said, "That we have. So it's the beer that draws the crowd, not the pretty girls?" He asked with a wink. Hawke's cheeriness surprised him, but Alistair had not learned to predict his mood shifts. He was not even sure if they were real or feigned sometimes.

The serving girl flushed slightly and glanced toward a ruddy-faced, middle-aged man behind the bar. Her father? In any case, she ignored the wink, saying only that she would be back with beer. "...though I'm afraid we have no more chairs."

"Come, Alistair, we should gather what news of the Bannorn we can. And perhaps, have a little fun on the way." He leaned over and whisper to a young woman with long blonde braids, leaning against one of the posts supporting the roof. She tittered nervously but did not move away.

Their beer soon arrived and Hawke continued to converse with the blonde, and a tall woman with black hair in a dark green cloak. Alistair stood a little apart, sipping his beer and watching the convivial crowd.

After light-hearted conversation and another round of beer, Alistair overheard Hawke turning toward more serious matters. "...so have things been peaceful hereabouts? I've heard a lot of wild tales on the road these past weeks."

"Not so bad round here, but I heard there were terrible monsters in the southwestern part of the Bannorn," said the dark-haired woman. Her eyes flickered over toward Alistair.

"What kind of monsters?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Scary ones? What do I know of monsters? Even during the Blight, I never saw any Darkspawn. My parents never let me out of the house."

"I heard there were Demons. That's what Conan said, and his brother was a Templar..." said a short, red-bearded man to the woman's right.

"Did he actually see them though?" The blonde sounded skeptical. "People tell tall tales."

"I bet they were. But I heard the Herald of Andraste's fixed them. They say she's been bringin' order to all the lands in the southwest," declared a tall young man with steel gray eyes that matched his cloak. A cluster of people had begun to form around them.

Another man, equally tall, but middle aged, red-faced and beefy shouted. "The so-called Herald of Andraste is a heretic! The Grand Cleric has-"

"Your precious Grand Cleric is just jealous 'cause people are listening to the Herald. She's at least doing something 'stead of just talk, wringing their hands while the bloody Templars rampage around the countryside!" retorted the gray-eyed man.

Sensing a brawl about to happen, the brewmaster came over, hands on his hips. "Knock it off, or I'll have Duncan throw you both out!" The angry pair glared at each other and retreated muttering. The small crowd that had gathered split in half, backed away to opposite sides of the common room.

Hawke drained his second flagon and shouted out for another four flagons, one each for the women, and another for Alistair who was barely halfway through his last.

He shook his head. The ale was strong and he had headaches enough without adding a hangover. Hawke glared at him, but then gave a quick smile. He sidled up to the grey-eyed man who had talked about the Herald and offered him the flagon. "Come join me and my friends. Let us drink to the Herald of Andraste," he said softly.

An arched eyebrow above cool gray eyes. "Are you her scouts? I wondered what brought men like you-warriors-to this village."

"No...but my friend wishes to join her cause." He glanced toward Alistair.

"You don't?"

Hawke shrugged. "Perhaps. I need to know more. Do you know how to contact her scouts."

"I'm just a farmer. And even if I did know, I wouldn't know if I should tell. She's got enemies, ya know. And everyone knows Haven in the mountains in the west is her base. Anything else I heard is rumors."

He chuckled. "Fair enough to be cautious. But tell us rumors, then."

The blonde sighed. "This is getting boring. I want to dance." She tugged on Iain's arm.

He smiled at her. "In a moment, Alina. We are trying to find the Herald. I should at least see if he knows something."

"Well, I heard she's gone to Redcliffe, to make an alliance with the mages. But I don't know if it's true, people claim she's been in a lot of places: Val Royeaux, the Storm Coast, even the Korcari wilds."

"He don't know where she is. He's just a villager like the rest of us." She tugged on his arm again.

"Come, Alistair. You should join us on the dance floor. How long is it since you've danced?"

 _Danced? Not since before Aedan disappeared._

"I think Caelan would like to dance with you," Hawke said, inclining his head toward the dark-haired woman.

"No!" said Alistair, more harshly than he intended. "Hawke, I'm tired. I'm going to set up camp. You-do what you want." His head hurt.

Hawke sighed and took Alina's hand and began the steps of a galliard to the jongleur's tune. But his eyes stayed on Alistair as he left the brewery.


	27. Chapter 26 Dark Tidings

The leaves were already turning when they reached The Spoiled Princess. Fall came earlier in southern Ferelden, though it was still warm during the day. Alistair tried to focus on the red and gold hues of the leaves, to distract himself from the droning whine in his ears. Besides, he might never see them again; the darkness closed in a little tighter each day.

The inn was even shabbier than he remembered it: peeling paint, cracks in the wooden pillars supporting the roof, wobbly tables. He supposed its business had declined, with the Circle gone. There were only a few other customers tonight, a middle aged couple at a table, and a lean, black-bearded man in a green cloak at the end of the bar.

Hawke and Alistair sat down at the bar. "Good evening, and welcome to the Spoiled Princess. What can I get for you fellows? Are you just here for a drink or do you plan to spend the night?" The innkeeper had changed less than the inn, a little heavier, a little more grey in his hair.

Alistair glanced at Iain. "I suppose we could use a roof over our heads tonight."

Hawke nodded his assent. "And beer and dinner for now."

The innkeeper returned with their meals and flagons of ale. He stared at Alistair for a moment. "Have you been here before? You look familiar."

Alistair's muscles tensed. Ten years, longer hair and a thick beard and the man still remembered him. Surely not. "No." He extended. "I'm Alan Redcliffe and this is my friend..."

"Iain McDraoidh." He extended his hand. "I have been here before, but some years ago."

"Redcliffe? Are you returning home, now that the mages are gone?"

This was news. "Did Arl Teagann evict them? Or..."

He shook his head. "I heard they followed the Herald back to Haven. Guess they're all gone now..."

"Gone? Where? What do you mean?"

The innkeeper spread his hands. "Oh, you came from the east, so I guess the news hasn't reached yet. Haven's...gone. An army appeared and besieged it, and there was a huge landslide. A whole mountainside collapsed. They say it buried the whole valley."

"An army?" asked Hawke. "Whose army?"

The man shrugged. "Nobody knows who commanded it. It wasn't the Queen or the Arl. The rumors don't make any sense. Some say it was Templars, others claim it was full of red demons."

Red men, thought Alistair as the innkeeper continued. "Some people are even claiming there was a dragon-"

Alistair gasped. "A dragon?" The words popped out of his mouth before he could silence them. _Could this be a Blight, after all?_ His heart stopped. But maybe the dragon from the Temple had returned...

"But what about the Herald?" pressed Iain.

The man shook his head. "Vanished into the snow along with the besieging army, it seems. There's been no word."

Vanished into the snow. Alistair took a long swallow of his beer and stared at the wall. _Leliana is gone. Hawke's friend Varric is gone. Where could they go to find help now?_

When the innkeeper came back to refill their beers, he snapped his fingers. "I remember now. It was years ago, but you were here with the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight."

Alistair sat up in alarm. "N-no. You must be mistaken. Maybe I was here when I was younger and I've forgotten-it's not far from Redcliffe where I grew up-but I was not with the Hero of Ferelden. I'd remember that!" He forced himself to laugh.

The man looked at him curiously. "You're sure? You're the spitting image of his friend give or take a beard and a few years."

Alistair shook his head. He drank from his tankard to hide mouthing a curse on innkeepers with exceptional memories. Then he sighed, and looked around, realizing he was sitting alone at the bar. Both Iain and the man in the green cloak had left.

He turned around in his chair to see Iain reentering the tavern, scowling. He threw some silver on the bar, saying, "We need to leave."

Alistair stood up. He followed Iain out, whispering "The other man? You're sure he-"

"He practically ran to his horse the moment the innkeeper identified you. I never dreamed they'd post someone to keep watch on a small inn like this. I understand why they expected you to go to Amaranthine, but how did they guess we would come this way?" he asked as he led Alistair up a rough, steep trail that wound up into the hills, away from the main track. He shook his head. "This is my fault. I thought they'd expect us to make for Denerim or Highever. But why would they expect us to seek the Herald?"

"Maybe they thought we were heading to Redcliffe, to seek Teagan's help. I did grow up there."

"Perhaps so. I did not think of that. Well, we'll have to head north then, if they're expecting us to turn south."

"But where do we go now?" Alistair stared hopely into the darkness ahead of them. "Who can stop this...Tevinter plot or whatever it is?" _Who can help me find Aedan?_ his mind wailed, though his tongue suppressed the thought.

Iain gave a weary sigh. "I don't know...but I know a place we can lie low for a while. Until we can find a way forward."

With no alternative to offer, he followed Hawke up the narrow track into the hills.


	28. 27 A Slaver's Den

They walked along narrow tracks, wound their way higher into the hills until late into the night, when Iain judged they had placed enough distance between them and the Spoiled Princess. How Hawke found his way with nothing more than the moonlight filtering through the trees, Alistair could not guess. When he asked, Hawke laughed, saying only that he had lived a lifetime in the shadows.

When they finally made camp that night, Alistair pressed Hawke on their destination.

"It's a place I found years ago, not long after I fled Kirkwall. I was at the height of my popularity and needed to get away from the Chantry's...attention. It's not far from Crestwood, if that means anything to you. It's underground, literally, a home within a cave complex in the hills."

"How did you find it? I know where Crestwood is, and it's nowhere near Lothering. You couldn't have known it growing up."

He sighed. "There was a woman I knew, the daughter of a friend of my father's. Have you heard of the Mage's Collective?"

"Yes. They contacted us during the Blight."

"She was one of them. She sheltered me in her home."

"Will she still be there?"

Hawke said nothing for a moment, and it was too dark to read his expression. "No," he said.

"And what do we do once we get there?" Alistair stared down at his hands. "Who can we turn to?"

"I truly don't know. I will try contacting the Carta. Someone will pick up the pieces left by the Herald, surely. And I can't help believing that Varric, at least, would have found an escape. Maybe it's just a wish, but Varric is nothing if not a survivor."

 _Or maybe it's something you need to believe to keep going._ Alistair could identify with that.

They made their way northward through the rugged country along Lake Calenhad. Though they remained watchful, it seemed unlikely they would be pursued here. Few people lived in this part of Ferelden for the soil was too thin and stony, the slopes too steep for farming.

On a brisk autumn evening, Iain pointed at distant firelight in the dark valley to the north of them. "We're almost there," he said. Those lights are Crestwood and my friend Jille made her home in the valley to the north and east." He pointed into the distance to his right. "You should wait here while I go into town for supplies, and try to find a Carta contact. It's on the main road, so even though it's not an important village, there could be spies looking for us."

And so Alistair waited in the hills for a day, while Hawke went into town. Alistair was not unused to being left behind. Aedan had done so often, when he felt a mission required stealth. Silence, concealment and subterfuge had been... _were_ Aedan's stock in trade, not his. But the waiting was harder now.

It was not that he didn't trust Hawke, nor was he worried that Hawke would get into trouble. The man could handle himself But he could feel his time running out now, his hourglass draining as he waited uselessly in the hills. He felt his days slipping away more keenly when he was alone, and there was no one to distract him from the pain in his temples, and the sounds that invaded his ears day and night now.

When Iain returned, Alistair watched him struggle up the hill with a heavy pack. _How long is he anticipating being stuck here? Are we to winter here?_ Alistair wasn't sure he could hold out that long...

Though red-faced from the effort of the climb, Iain smiled as he approached. "Well, there might be a little complication. In talking with the locals, I learned that the valley with our little hideaway has been seized by bandits-"

"Bandits?" His eyes narrowed, he looked off to the northeast. He could not see any signs of an encampment. Perhaps they were not numerous.

"Well, they're calling themselves traders but I've heard stories of how they acquire their merchandise. They're flying the Banner of the Blind Men."

Alistair turned back to Hawke. "Banner of the Blind Men? They're slavers."

"I've heard that too. We're not far from the Waking Sea, so it would not be difficult to get them to a ship from here. And the Queen's authority is weak this far from Denerim. Alas, I rather suspect they would be using my old friend's home.."

"How many?"

"I'm guessing only a dozen or so. They've been allowing the larger merchant caravans to pass unhindered.. We may have to ask them to leave." Hawke winked at him.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be very persuasive," agreed Alistair, as he sharpened his sword.


	29. Chapter 28 A Base of Operatins

Once Hawke had eliminated the lookouts on the ridge above the cave entrance, it was easy to capture the bandit's hideout. The narrow passageways within proved an ideal place for two veteran warriors to defeat an enemy with greater numbers but inferior skill. The Blind Men were trapped in their own lair, unable to send word to any allies.

There were only a few chambers within. The living quarters had been filthy even before they were strewn with corpses and ankle-deep pools of blood. The cages where slaves had likely been kept were empty; there was no one to free. Alistair and Iain set up camp in the kitchen/storage room area. There was ample food for two men to last a long time here, even had Iain not gone to town for supplies. _Not that he would last a long time._

After they had set up their bedding and belongings, the two men went outside to survey their surroundings. Alistair started to remove the banner from the entryway, but Hawke stopped him.

"No. Let the townspeople think the bandits remain here. Their reputation should discourage visitors, and I don't suppose the Wardens will look for you under this banner."

Once they were satisfied that there were no more of the slavers out in the valley, they set themselves to the task of dragging the bodies out of the caves and burying them.

The work was not finished until twilight. Iain lit a fire and took a flask from his pack. "Here, Alistair, let us drink to our latest victory. A small thing in the greater scheme of things, yes, but they would have sold slaves to the Tevinters. Let us celebrate what we can do, and have done, not keep our eyes fixed on distant horizons." He took a long swig from the flask and handed it to Alistair.

Alistair took a gulp and spluttered as the liquid burned his throat. He expected wine; the flask contained firewater.

Hawke laughed at his discomfiture. "I felt something a little stronger was needed tonight," as Alistair handed the flask back to him. He drank again and held it out once more.

Alistair shook his head.

Iain sighed. "Oh, come on. Had I known you would be such gloomy company, I don't think I'd have come with you. You used to be fun."

Alistair snorted and stared at him. _What does he expect of me?_ He knew Iain had been impatient with him at the brewery on the Bannon, but he had not voiced a complaint since that night. "As if you don't know why I'm not _fun_ now."

Hawke drank again. "Let's see, you've lost your love, you're a fugitive, and feel the weight of Thedas on your shoulders." He shrugged. "You've been there before. Were you so dreary all the way through the Blight?"

 _And I'm dying_. "I was worse after Ostagar", he murmured. He felt he was coping well, under the circumstances.

"Oh? I can't imagine what Aedan could have seen in you."

"That was later. And Aedan-" it was painful to think of these memories with his lover lost, "Aedan had lost his own family. He understood." And he had been younger, then, and vigorous with the first flush of taint.

"Loss? No, of course _I_ wouldn't understand loss."

Alistair looked away. "That's not what I meant."

"Moping doesn't make things any better. I could have wrapped myself in misery, but what's the point? It won't solve our problems and it makes you dreary company."

"Drinking won't solve our problems,either."

Hawke shrugged. "I'm not suggesting you be drunk all the time. Having a little fun now and then does make things more bearable. At least for the people around you."

"Well, I don't feel like it."

Iain scowled. "Fine, don't drink then." He sighed and took another swallow, glaring at Alistair. He sat for a moment, then his expression shifted once more. His blue eyes lost their cold stare, came back to life, though maybe it was just the drink. "I know what you need." There was a hint of a smile now.

"I need to go to bed." Though sleep was no escape these days.

"Nah...well, if you must but...there's a place in the hills near here. A beautiful spring. It's only a day's hike away. There's nothing we can do here right now. We can head up there tomorrow, relax for a while. I promise you'll feel better."

Alistair doubted that, but agreed anyway. It would be a distraction, at least.


	30. Chapter 29 The Boiling Spring

The next day, Hawke led him back across the Imperial Highway, into the hills that surrounded Lake Calenhad. It was autumn now, and the morning air was crisp. Each breath they exhaled produced a fine mist that obscured the red and gold colors of the dry leaves. The Darkspawn had stayed down in the valleys here, rather than scaling the heights, and the old forests that clad the hills had not withered like so many others in Ferelden. Though the leaves had turned, most had not yet fallen; the woods were at the peak of autumn splendor, filled with the beauty of the summer's death.

By mid-day, the sun had warmed the land, even in the highlands, and their breath had vanished. Their ascent ended, they crossed a ridge crest and Alistair found himself looking down into a steep-sided bowl with steaming water at the bottom. "We're here," announced Iain with a smile and led Alistair down a rough path toward the pool. The way was steep, but Alistair could see that Iain had taken them by the best route; elsewhere the slopes were not merely steep but slick with the moss that grew in the water that cascaded down the slopes between the trees. It formed patches of deep green on the white and rust colored stone that formed cliffs and terraces around the edge of the valley. There was a faint whiff of rotten eggs in the air, but the scene was as delightful as he had promised.

When they arrived at the water's edge, Iain shucked his clothes and dove into the turquoise waters. After a moment, Alistair began removing his own gear, a more laborious process for him than for Hawke.

Though hot springs were not rare around Lake Calenhad, it had been years since he had bathed in one. The autumn air was brisk against his bare skin, but the water was warm and soothing. Moments earlier, his legs had been heavy from the climb, but the moist heat drove exhaustion away. He climbed in and swam out toward Iain.

"I told you this was what you needed".

"You used to come here with-?"

"With Caitrina," He took a deep breath. "She loved this place. She called it the Boiling Spring". He gestured at the fine bubbles in the water; Alistair thought of Sybille's wine back in Val Royeaux. "Not that it's really boiling hot, of course!"

"It is a beautiful place," he agreed. It struck him as strange that it was unknown. Granted, it was not a populous part of Ferelden, but it was not far from the Imperial Highway. And the Tevinters had often built spa towns around springs like this one. At the very least, he would have thought it would be a favorite of the local people. Yet not only was no one else here, he saw no signs of campsites on the shoreline. "Why is this place not...popular?"

Hawke shrugged. "I suppose it might be because of the wyverns."

"Wyverns?" Alistair looked back to the shore where his armor and weapons lay in a heap.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not nesting season. But I expect that's why people stay away. The Wyverns like the warmth for their young."

He was somewhat reassured, but he knew he would have to move quickly to at least grab his sword and shield if they were to fight wyverns. He swam a little closer to shore, keeping a watchful eye on the sky.

Still, perhaps Hawke had been right and this was what he needed. The hot water seemed to ease the throbbing in his head as well as muscles aching from old injuries and the climb up to the spring. He began to relax. Maybe Hawke was right. It did not help to fret; he might as well try to enjoy what he suspected would be his final autumn.

Hawke swam by him, kicking furiously and splashing water into his face. Childishly, he flicked water back at Iain in turn. Soon they were swimming round one another, diving and resurfacing to surprise, spattering each other, laughing and spluttering.

Thoughts of the Calling, Tevinter plots, and civil wars fell away as he gave in to the memory of long-ago days in swimming holes near Redcliffe, Alistair soon found himself grappling and wrestling with Iain. Though Alistair was bigger and stronger, Iain was a slippery opponent to pin down. He wriggled out of any hold Alistair could devise as they sloshed about in the water.

But they were not children any more, and Hawke's evident arousal was a firm reminder of that. Iain laughed when he noted the direction of Alistair's startled gaze, and put his hand on the bigger man's thigh.

"Iain, no!" Alistiar said sharply and pulled away.

"Why not? It would do you good. Maker knows I'm not trying to replace Aedan. Would he really mind so much?"

"That's not the point!"

"We don't have to go any further than you wish but...would you not like to be held at least? And if it goes beyond that, well...it's not like it would result in a child. What does it matter?"

"It would feel like giving up on finding him. I can't."

"But-"

Alistair wouldn't let him continue. _I don't need him to tell me how slim a chance it is that we can find him, if he's even still alive._ "If I stop believing I will find him, what do I have to look forward to but madness and darkness?" _Madness and darkness, madness and darkness_ , the surrounding cliffs echoed back at him. He hadn't meant to shout.


	31. Chapter 30: Parting Ways

They didn't talk much on the way back to the Slaver's Den. Alistair wondered if Hawke was hurt by his rejection, though he had said he meant nothing by it beyond fun. He was a difficult man to read.

Alistair blew out the candles and settled into his bedroll for the night, as Hawke did the same on the other side of the chamber. In the night, he dreamed that a crack in the wall opened, allowing a dim reddish light to spill through it. As the crack widened, he could see into a long hallway, lined with dwarven statues in niches and a river of red molten rock flowing down the middle. In the distance, he could see the figure of a man in a grey, hooded cloak.

He moved the passage in the wall and pursued the man down the hall. The man glanced backward once and though the light was dim, Alistair thought he saw Aedan's face. He called out to him, but the man turned away and forged ahead into the darkness.

Alistair ran after him, but Darkspawn poured into the hall from side passages. Alistair had to retreat to a narrow spot in the hall where only two or three darkspawn could reach him at a time. There he made his stand, slashing with his sword and blocking and pummeling with his shield, until he was knee deep in black blood.

Pushing the darkspawn corpses aside he resumed his chase. At the end of a long passage, he spotted a gray-cloaked figure. He was facing away from him and seemed to be writing or drawing something on the ground in front of him.

"Aedan-?"

A glyph lit up the floor around the figure as it turned toward him. The hood fell back revealing a hurlock emissary.

He awakened with a jolt. Hawke was already finished his breakfast and putting on his cloak and boots. When Alistair's heart rate and breathing had slowed, he rubbed his eyes and asked, "You're heading out early?"

"I want to see if there is any news from the Carta. Crestwood is on the Imperial Highway; traders from Orzammar go through there all the time. I didn't want to wake you. You sleep so scantily, I didn't like to disturb you even though your sleep did not seem very restful."

So he had noticed. "Can't you wait? It won't take me long to be ready."

He shook his head. "Best you stay out of sight. I'll be back later today."

Alistair grimaced, but bid Iain farewell. It was easier to stay focused when there was someone to talk to. His training routines were not enough anymore to block out the droning, undulating tone he refused to think of as music. But he still went through the motions, and spent the remainder of the day in a half-hearted attempt to tidy the den, as it seemed they would be stuck here for a while.

In the late afternoon, Hawke returned, breathless from running-running? Alistair pulled his sword out, anticipating a fight.

Iain laughed. "No need for that. But I come with tidings. I'll start with the good news. I've received word from Varric."

"He escaped from the landslide at Haven?"

"I told you he would. But better, it seems most of the Herald's people survived, including your Leliana. And Cassandra Pendragon." He sighed. "They have made camp in an ancient elven fortress high in the Frostbacks called Skyhold. And Leliana and Cassandra-the hands of the former Divine-have declared a new _Inquisition_ , led by the Herald."

"What?" He wasn't sure how to take this news. The Seekers' order had its origin in the Inquisition, but it had been a bloody time. "Have they elected a new Divine?"

Hawke shook his head. "No, they're doing it without the Chantry, such as it is these days. They've taken it on themselves to restore order. But there's more still."

Yes, he said he was beginning with the good news. Alistair held his breath.

Iain swallowed. "It's Corypheus. He survives. I know not how. He led the army that attacked Haven, and he controls a High Dragon."

Alistair exhaled and nodded. He supposed he should have suspected it. He had even compared the Wardens' behavior to how they had acted under the influence of Corypheus, when he met Hawke in Amaranthine. "It fits. It explains...what's happening with the Wardens. But he must have other allies."

"A faction in Tevinter, yes. So now I am to go to Skyhold to meet with the Inquisitor and tell him what I know."

"Don't you mean we? You didn't even want to go to Haven before. You're sure it's not a trap? Could Varric be under duress?"

"We have...code words for such things. He is confident I will not be imprisoned or executed. But you must stay here, for now."

"What?" Was Iain punishing him? "Is this because-of what happened at the spring?"

"No! There's still more news, not from Varric, but I learned this from asking around town. There have been Wardens prowling about Crestwood looking for you. There's only one way to get to Skyhold and the pass lies off the Highway. We can't risk it. I'm not one to fear a fight, but I don't relish being ambushed by a team of Wardens. I'll return with a team from this...Inquisition."

"You're just going to leave me here?"

"It isn't that far. I'll be back in a little over a fortnight. A moon at most."

"A fortnight? I can't-"

"You'll be fine. We have plenty of provisions."

Provisions were not what he was worried about. "Iain please-"

"No. It's too risky. It won't be that long. And-Alistair. You were right. I don't really understand what you're going through. I've lost people but I never committed to any one the way you have to Aedan...so, I don't mind."

This seemed sad to Alistair. "I know you've had to move around so much since Kirkwall, but even there, none of your friends were special to you?"

"Oh, they were _all_ special in their ways. And I thought for a while maybe me and Aveline...but it was not to be. I just thought-at the spring-maybe being with someone again would help you."

Help me? That wasn't what he needed from Aedan. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Iain had turned away and was making preparations for the journey. Maker, how would he stay sane alone.


	32. Chapter 32

What he needed from Aedan now was reassurance, to hear that he was doing the right thing. He missed Aedan's voice and his smile, but more than anything he missed Aedan's faith and strength. Of course, he missed Aedan's body too, but even if he were here, he felt his appetite for the physical side of love fading along with his appetite for food and sleep. The Darkspawn had no need for any of these things, and he was becoming more like them by the day.

He needed something to distract him, keep his mind focused on something-anything-other than his own deterioration. And so, Alistair began preparing for his own journey as soon as Hawke left to find the Inquisition. Maybe he couldn't travel on the main roads or visit the town of Crestwood, but he couldn't face the prospect of holing up in a cave alone until Iain returned.

The Waking Sea was not far from Crestwood, and there were few people living on the rugged, rocky coast in this area. The Grey Wardens would not think of looking for him on the wild Storm Coast. And even if they did, at this time of year, the coastal hills would be shrouded in fog or rain; no one would see far through the heavy weather the area was famous for.

And so he gathered up enough rations for ten days-he could probably last thirty on this now-and set out for the sea. Iain would be gone for a fortnight or more. He need never know Alistair hadn't stayed there.

Traveling northward in this region was challenging. The Blind Men must have used a trail to take the slaves, but he didn't know where it was, and couldn't take the risk of encountering them. He would have to climb across the ridge crests and fording the rivers that drained toward Lake Calenhad. Though the ridges were not great peaks like the Frostbacks, they were steep and rocky. People normally traveled to the Storm Coast by boat from coastal towns to the east, like Highever, not on foot. But because the ranges of hills ran parallel to the coast, he would not get lost. He just needed to keep going against the grain of the landscape.

Alistair paused at the summit of the first ridge he ascended, and looked back toward the Imperial Highway. Hawke would be traveling west along it, not that he could see him from this distance. He reflected on what Iain had said before he left, about never having committed to one person. He supposed that it forced him to be self-reliant, but it seemed a sad thing, not to have anyone he could depend on absolutely.

He remembered traveling that road with Aedan a few months after the Blight was over. They had come through the darkness of war together and his world had been so full of love and happiness, despite the still fragile state of Ferelden. He could never have imagined he would be facing another crisis so dire only ten years later, and facing it without Aedan.

Though he was never free of the sound in his head these days, the exertion of climbing the hills and the pain in his knees and ankles on descent helped to divert his attention. Perhaps as a result, he pushed himself harder than there was any reason to, and made good time despite the lack of a well-worn track to follow. By the evening of the third day, he was on a precipice overlooking the Waking Sea.

He had misjudged the distance and arrived sooner than expected. In the heavy mist, he reached the cliff edge without even seeing it. It was the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks far below him that announced that he had reached the sea, rather than anything visible. Below him and before him lay nothing but gray.

He made camp that night between some rocks on the hilltop, sheltered from the wind. It was not cold, for the fall came later here and the nights were milder by the sea, but it was damp and clammy. In the past, he would have slept through the night uninterrupted after a day of climbing, but his sleep was increasingly broken up with dreams, and times when he was not sure if he was dreaming or awake.

The morning was as gray as the evening that had proceeded it. The fog had lifted, but heavy rain had set in, and the wind had picked up. The angry clouds to the northeast suggested one of the Harvestmere gales was on its way.

He searched for a safe way down the cliffside to the sea. The gray rocks here were layered, forming ledges that sloped westward along the shore, but they were slippery and he had to go slowly, holding onto the small pine trees that grew out of crevices in the rock face. It was almost mid-day when he reached the stony beach at the base of the cliff.

He wondered what he was doing here. He had never been that fond of the sea, and hated to travel by ship. But maybe it made him feel closer to Aedan, who had grown up on the ocean. Aedan had sometimes talked about watching at the ships sailing into the harbour from the guard towers at Castle Cousland, dreaming of visiting distant lands. Over the years, he had become less reticent about talking of his childhood, perhaps because he had adjusted to the loss of his parents. Or maybe it had been simply his determination to be more open with Alistair after their year apart.

Sometimes they had gone together to a cove near Vigil's Keep in the evening, walking along the shore hand in hand until the moon and stars had come out. Not that they would have gone there on a day like this one, with the wind driving the rain almost horizontally into the cliffs and the waves sending spray high into the air as they collided with the rocks.

Though there had been one time they had been caught in a thunderstorm on a summer night there. It was soon after he returned from Weisshaupt, when he was still unsure of whether he could learn to trust Aedan again. There had been no sign of a storm at sunset, and they walked a long way along the beach as they talked. They took shelter from the wind and rain in a cave on the headland west of Amaranthine.

A cave not so different from that one, just above the waterline. It was too low to be a good choice for a camp for if the tide rose much higher, he could be trapped. Still, he was drawn to it, as though Aedan's ghost were beckoning him. _No, not a ghost. He's not dead_ , he insisted to himself.

But after taking a few steps forward he stopped. There were darkspawn nearby. He had been hearing whispers all day, but that had been going on intermittently for some time. He supposed his sensitivity was increasing with his taint, and he was beginning to hear them in the tunnels underneath him. But this was different, stronger. They were close.

He couldn't tell how many there were, and so he decided to retreat, head back the beach the other way. It was not as if where he went mattered much. His wandering was aimless. He had only come north to clear his head.

As he went back the other way, he kept glancing back behind him. Sure enough, some darkspawn emerged from the cave and began to run toward him. It appeared to be only two genlocks, not much of a threat unless one was an emissary.

He turned about fully to face them. One genlock moved straight toward him while the other veered off to his left...an archer. Alistair bent low and held his shield up to deflect arrows, while moving toward the charging genlock.

It took him only a few swings to defeat them. A couple of stray genlocks were no real threat now. It had been different when he had been a young warden, leading Aedan and the other candidates for Joining into the fringes of the Korcari Wilds. He had not expected to face an Emissary that day, and it had tested the group to their limits. Yet Aedan had been so poised, had acted so decisively, fearlessly...or so it had seemed to Alistair. Aedan himself later dismissed his apparent courage as numb shock after the death of his parents.

He went back toward the cave from which the Darkspawn had emerged, thinking to check to see if the passage was small enough to seal. He took a torch from his pack, lit it and surveyed the opening. It led to a wide passage that he would not be able to block. And there were red masses growing from the cave floor. _More red lyrium? How can something he had never heard of a few months ago have become so common?_ He would have to tell Hawke about this, when he returned.

Despite the red lyrium, on another occasion, he would have been tempted to investigate further, to see if a raiding party might be assembling in the darkness. But he turned his back and returned to sea. Even if a raiding party emerged here, there were few people they could harm.

If he was honest with himself, he was still tempted to go on into the darkness beyond, put an end to the headaches, the dreams, the noises in his head, and the crushing burden Adelheid had placed on him. Save us from ourselves, she had said. But he would not head into the depths today. While he still had the strength to search for his lover, and to stop Clarel's plan, he would continue to struggle. Though he doubted he could see this war to the end, he would fight as long as he could.


End file.
